I, Steve, Take You, Ellen
by Sally and Lisa
Summary: STORY COMPLETE. Thanks again to all who read this story. The reviews were so encouraging! WARNING: This story involves Ellen. Having worked out the romantic side of their relationship, Steve and Ellen still struggle over their conflicting careers.
1. To Be My Wedded Wife

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to CBS and Viacom. This is a piece of fan fiction, written for pleasure and not for profit. The characters are borrowed for the purpose of the story.

Authors' Note: Even though Ellen has never been our favorite match for Steve, evidently Barry Van Dyke liked the character since he wrote "Dance Of Danger," where Ellen was first introduced. Regardless of how you feel about her, she has been a fun person to write, and even if she is not your favorite either, we hope that you give the story a chance.

We hope that you have as much fun reading this as we did writing it.

****

I, Steve, Take You, Ellen

****

By Sally and Lisa

****

Chapter 1 – To Be My Wedded Wife

The phone rang, breaking the quiet serenity of the night, and a woman's hand slowly stretched out in the darkness, felt around for a minute, and by the third ring had located and picked it up. She brought it to her mouth and, in a very sleepy voice, said, "Hello."

"I'm sorry to disturb you at such an early hour, Ma'am," the voice on the other end announced, "but I need to speak with Lieutenant Steve Sloan."

With a small groan of disgust, she plopped the receiver down on what she hoped was the middle of his chest, she didn't really look, and then she snuggled back down under the covers.

Steve moved the phone so that he could speak into it. "Sloan, here." He wasn't fully awake, but he had a feeling he soon would be.

"Lieutenant Sloan, this is Officer Roberts. I'm sorry to bother you, Sir, but there's been another murder with the same MO as the dumpster killings, and you're the lead investigator."

Steve was already sitting up, and he reached over and flipped on the small lamp on his nightstand. "What s the address?"

"8674 West Monroe Drive." Steve repeated it and wrote it down. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Have you called the CSU?"

"Yes, Sir. They've been notified."

After a few pleasantries and another apology from the younger officer for waking him, the conversation was over. Steve turned around and a smile came to his face as he looked at his bride lying in the bed. He leaned over her, gently moved a lock of her blonde hair off of the side of her cheek, and left a soft kiss in its place.

In a very quiet voice, he informed her, "I have to go."

"I know, I heard." She didn't open her eyes. There was a time when she might have jumped out of bed and tried to follow him to the crime scene, but since she wasn't even attempting to move out from under the blankets, he wasn't worried.

"Ellen." He looked at her in the dim light. "I love you."

A wide smile appeared on her face, and she opened her eyes to meet his. "I know. Be careful, ok?"

A passionate kiss followed, and then he suggested, "Why don't you go back to sleep? I'll call you later."

Steve turned off the bedside lamp and reluctantly made his way into the bathroom, wondering why it was that dead bodies seemed to always be discovered in the middle of the night.

After quickly getting dressed, Steve took one last glance at his wife of less than a year and then, with a deep feeling of contentment, he headed out the door. He had to admit that he was truly enjoying married life.

He and Ellen had worked through most of the minor problems all newly wed couples encounter without difficulty, but one issue seemed to push their relationship to the limits, the conflict between their careers. There had been many heated discussions in which both of them clearly showed how stubborn they could be. But one day, when Ellen received a call from the Los Angeles Chronicle asking if she would like to be a free-lance writer reporting human-interest stories, the topic seemed to become less explosive. She found herself busy doing her own investigating and no longer found it necessary to sneak out to all of his crime scenes.

Steve had wondered if his dad had something to do with Ellen getting the job, but he had never worked up the courage to ask him, especially since Mark seemed to be her biggest fan. His dad had always made it a point to read all of her stories, even when they appeared in The National Scoop. Steve wanted to support her career, although he found it hard to take anything seriously that the tabloid had to offer. He had always thought that Ellen was a talented writer though, and so he chose to believe it was his wife's talent that got her the job.

----------

"As you can see, Sir, all of the evidence seems to match the MO of the dumpster killings." Sergeant Roberts had guided Steve to the body as soon as he had arrived. The area was flooded with lights making it appear as if the sun were shining brightly, but the chill in the air reminded them all that it was still night.

Steve nodded his agreement. He was tired of seeing the ugly murder scenes. With the discovery of the third body two weeks ago, the case had been declared the work of a serial killer, and with the addition of each new victim, the pressure on Steve to solve them grew stronger. Another name being put on the list was certainly not going to make his superiors any happier.

Whoever was committing these murders seemed to choose their victims at random. So far, Steve couldn't find any connection between the six people. They were all attacked from behind and then brutally beaten before their bodies were unceremoniously left with the garbage in one of the city dumpsters. Two were women, four were men, each a different age, having different occupations, living in different neighborhoods, and having different backgrounds. The murder weapon was never found, nor was any other helpful evidence.

"Do we know who he was?"

"Yes, Sir. His wallet was found on him." The younger officer handed it over to Steve. "His name was Mitchell Sowers. According to his driver's license, he's 35 and lives on the east side of town."

Steve took note of the information as he pulled his jacket collar up a little higher around his neck. He would much rather be back home, snuggling with Ellen in the comfort of their bed.

Home. The thought of it warmed him. He and Ellen had bought a small house in a quiet neighborhood and had started to fix it up to their liking. Steve was actually amazed at her domestic talents, but he was also glad she had them. It was a nice feeling to know that at the end of his days he had a place to go where he could escape the stress and horrors of his job, mainly because of the beautiful woman who would be there waiting for him.

It was two hours later when the coroner had the body of Mitchell Sowers ready to transport to the pathology lab, and Steve could leave. He grabbed some breakfast on his way over to the precinct and was pleasantly surprised to find that Captain Woodruff wasn't in; he really didn't want to sit through a lecture that he could quote by heart.

"Lieutenant Sloan." The captain would always begin, emphasizing the word lieutenant, as if silently making the point that it was a part of his name that could be changed at any time. "Have you made any progress on the dumpster killings?"

Steve always thought that was a ridiculous question, because if he had made any progress, the Captain would be the first to be informed. "No, Sir, I'm still working it."

What followed had a bit of variety to it, but no matter what words were used, there was always the underlying dissatisfaction that the case remained unsolved.

As Steve sat down at his desk, he decided to take advantage of his few spare minutes and make a call.

"Hello, Sloan residence," a happy voice answered.

"Hi." Steve had been feeling a little dreary, but the sound of his wife's voice cheered him.

If he could see her face, he would have seen a bright smile. "Hi. Got anything you want to tell me about your case?"

There was something in Ellen's voice that let him know that she wasn't serious, but he felt like he needed to say it anyway. "You know I can't do that."

"Can't or won't?" she quickly asked.

He had to chuckle. "Both," he stated. "I can tell you that I have to visit the next-of-kin and then go by the hospital and get the autopsy report from Amanda, but I was wondering if you might be free to meet me for lunch?"

"Sure, I can do that. The only thing on my agenda is to see how the opening of the new library is progressing, you know, the new story that I've been assigned, but I'm sure I'll be done by noon."

"Good, how about we meet at Romero's?"

"That sounds good."

"The Captain just came in; I've got to go."

"I love you," she told him.

"Me, too. Talk to you later."

As Ellen hung up the phone, she sighed deeply. She was sitting in the kitchen and as she looked around she noticed that it was a little messy, but that was just fine with her. It was, after all, her kitchen and having to clean up a few dirty dishes this morning was a small trade-off for ignoring them the night before to spend a thoroughly enjoyable evening with her husband.

She really did love Steve, and she knew that he loved her. She had been so thrilled when he had finally asked her to marry him, but after a few days the initial excitement had worn off, and she decided that she needed to talk to him about the incident. There were too many questions and doubts that kept forming in her mind. Things like why did he wait to propose until she had started walking away? And when he did propose and she asked him to repeat what he'd said, why did he deny that he had told her he loved her and wanted to marry her? She didn't want to enter into a marriage if she wasn't absolutely sure that it was the right thing to do. They had scheduled a date to go to dinner and Ellen had decided that she would use that opportunity to discuss her concerns.

Steve had made reservations at an elegant French restaurant. After they were seated beside each other in a private area and placed their orders, Ellen got ready to begin the conversation. But before she could say anything, Steve surprised her.

He gently took hold of her hand, looked directly into her eyes, and said, "Ellen, I sort of botched this the first time, and you deserve better, so tonight, I want to do it right." Then, without a single stammer, he proclaimed his love for her and delivered the perfect marriage proposal.

She was so surprised it left her speechless, something that rarely happened.

Steve was delighted with her reaction and gently pulled her close to him to kiss her. When he finally pulled away, a bright smile appeared on her face and her eyes were twinkling in the romantic candlelight. All of her doubts disappeared. "Yes, I would love to marry you."

It had been a perfect evening, and every time she thought about it, she realized anew that even though her husband wasn't a man who often showed his emotions, he did love her.

Ellen brought her thoughts back to the present and started to clean up the dishes, but a report on the early morning news suddenly caught her attention.

"The body of Samuel Hackett, known among the organized crime world as Sammy the Hatchet', was found early this morning in one of the apartments in this building behind me." A perky young reporter was standing in front of a somewhat older apartment complex that looked very familiar to Ellen. "Police are releasing very few details, except to say that Mr. Hackett was apparently beaten to death some time yesterday afternoon."

Ellen left the dirty dishes where they were, quickly got ready, grabbed her keys, and hurried out the door.

----------

As soon as Cheryl reported in, Steve recruited her to accompany him to visit the newly widowed Mrs. Mitchell Sowers. Even though the couple had been separated for over three months and were currently seeking a divorce, Mrs. Sowers had been shocked to hear the news of her husband's death. They stayed with her, asking her the normal questions, and when she assured them that she would be all right, they left her home and drove to stop Community General Hospital.

"Hi, Amanda," Cheryl greeted her friend as she and Steve entered the pathology lab.

Amanda looked up from her work. She was dressed from head to toe in blue scrubs, obviously in the middle of performing an autopsy. "Hello, the report is over there." She nodded in the direction of her desk.

Steve, who never really liked to know the details of Amanda's job, walked over to pick up the file, while Cheryl wandered closer to her friend. "Who's this?"

"Samuel Hackett."

"Oh, I heard about him. The man who could supposedly kill anyone in a single shot, for the right price that is, got taken down himself," Cheryl commented.

"Yeah, and by a baseball bat."

Steve's interest was piqued. "A baseball bat?" He approached the examination table.

"Yeah, he was hit from behind, right here, that rendered him unconscious. Then it was this blow," she pointed to another spot on his head, "that actually killed him. There were wood splinters that matched a bat found in his apartment. The lab took it to check for prints."

"Well, I'm just glad it's not my case." Steve stated. "The press will be all over it, and I've got enough headaches with the one I have." He had been scanning the report as they talked. "It looks like there is nothing new with Mitchell Sowers."

"No, Steve there isn't. It's the same as the others. I'm sorry." Amanda knew how discouraging it was to have a case with no leads.

"Well, thanks, Amanda. Something will turn up." And then looking at Cheryl, he said, "We'd better get back to the precinct."

----------

As Steve entered the squad room, he sensed that there was something off. His fellow officers seemed occupied as they normally would be, but even so, the atmosphere was abnormal for some reason, but he couldn't quite decide what was wrong. He continued toward his desk and sat down, and the picture of Ellen that he kept on it brought a smile to his face. He glanced at his watch, noting that in about 30 minutes he would be able to actually be with his wife, instead of just look at her photo. He opened the autopsy file on the latest victim, Mitchell Sowers, to begin to read it in more detail, but was interrupted by a very nervous looking colleague, Brett Collins, who was approaching his desk.

"Um, Steve, could I speak with you for a minute?"

"Sure." Steve laid the folder down and gave Brett his full attention. "What can I do for you, Brett?"

"Um," the man stuttered. He wasn't really sure how or where to begin. "I was on duty and took the call for Samuel Hackett."

"Oh, I heard about it," Steve replied. Brett had been in the homicide division for a little over five years and had an excellent reputation, so Steve wondered why he was seeking his advice.

"Well, we have a suspect in the interrogation room and well, I was about to question the suspectbut the Captain thought that I should"

Steve was sure that the confusion he was feeling was written all over his face.

"Umif you would just come with me." Brett started to move toward one of the interrogation rooms and motioned for Steve to follow. As they walked, Brett continued to speak. "The suspect had opportunity, confessed that they were in the apartment yesterday, and the fingerprints on the murder weapon are a match."

"Did the suspect have a motive?" Steve asked. He'd never seen Brett act like this and he also thought it was odd that the suspect' didn't seem to have a name or a gender.

They had almost arrived at the interrogation room, but Brett quit walking. "Umyeah, there was a motive."

"Then why don't you place the suspect under arrest?"

Brett scrutinized his shoes, and then took a deep breath before raising his head and looking directly at Steve. "I just thoughtmaybe you would" They were just off to the side of the two-way mirror that separated the hallway from the interrogation room. Instead of saying anything else, Brett merely pointed for Steve to look through it.

Steve moved over and was more than surprised to see that the occupant of the room was his wife.


	2. To Have and To Hold

****

Chapter 2 - To have and to hold

It took only a brief moment to recover from his shock, and then Steve rushed into the interrogation room where his wife was sitting. "Ellen, what are you doing here?"

The surprised woman looked up at her husband and wasn't sure if she saw anger, confusion, or just plain annoyance. She was hoping to have given her statement and leave the precinct before he returned, but obviously her plan had failed. She would have been glad to explain to him what had happened, but he didn't even give her a chance to answer his first question before he began asking more of them. "You're the suspect? What were you doing at Hackett's apartment anyway? Don't tell me that you were working on a story about hitmen for the mob? And I don't understand why you just didn't come to me?" He had made his way over to her, and, once he stopped talking, he stared directly at her with an accusatory look, one that she hadn't seen from him for a long time. Actually, she hadn't seen it since before they were engaged when he had caught her sending what he thought was the story about Burkett Pharmaceuticals to her publisher.

Instantly, her defenses went up, and she returned his glare with one of her own. She narrowed her eyes and scowled at him, speaking volumes with her expression without saying a single word out loud. The stare down continued for a long minute until Brett Collins decided that he should intervene. He cleared his throat and, in an almost embarrassed voice, said, "Steve?" The irritated husband moved his head to see Brett, but the look of venom hadn't completely disappeared from his eyes.

A forced smile appeared on Brett's face as the thought passed through his mind, _I hope they're still married at the end of the day. _Once again, the hesitant detective cleared his throat and continued. "Well, shortly after you left this morning, she arrived at the front desk. Let me tell you what I know so far."

__

Ellen parked her car about a block down the street from the precinct, wondering what she should do. She had already been to the crime scene and discretely asked some questions, discovering, to her dismay, that the case was being handled by one of the detectives out of Steve's precinct. She had returned to her car and sat in it for another fifteen minutes, inwardly debating her options. Several came to mind, but she knew that only one was the right thing. Steve had always told her how much easier investigations would be if people just came forward and told the truth, so she had groaned out loud in frustration and drove toward the police station.

During her time writing for "The National Scoop", Ellen had become pretty good at discrete surveillance, but her attempts had never fooled Steve. It seemed he had an innate radar for seeking her out, so she had parked far enough away from the precinct that he wouldn't notice her car and waited, gathering her nerve to go in. To her surprise, she spotted Steve's car leaving the station, and, as luck would have it, he was driving in the opposite direction from where she was parked. Since she had no idea how long he might be gone, she decided she'd better hurry with her mission.

Literally running from her car, she entered the front lobby out of breath and smiled at the officer on duty at the front desk, who, even though she didn't recognize him, knew instantly who she was. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Sloan, but your husband just left a few minutes ago."

She replied, "Oh, I didn't come here to see him."

A look of confusion appeared on the officer's face, and the other two policemen behind the desk quietly, but not very discretely, turned their attention to the discussion.

"I would like to talk to the officer in charge of the Samuel Hackett case, I believe that's Detective Brett Collins."

The officer raised his eyebrows, surprised that she would know that information. "How did you know he was in charge of that case?"

"I'm a reporter." She shrugged her shoulders.

The officer nodded, but misunderstood her intentions. "Oh, well, in that case you need to speak with Sergeant Billingsly, she handles all the press conferences."

"Oh, no, I'm not here to get a story," Ellen corrected him. "I'm here because I was inside his apartment."

"You were inside Detective Collins' apartment?"

"No!" Ellen strongly denied the accusation. "I was inside Samuel Hackett's apartment."

"Ma'am, you could be arrested for that. No one is supposed to cross a police line and enter a crime scene." The officer had suddenly turned very serious, as had his two colleagues who were still watching with great interest.

Ellen let her disgust be heard in her voice, "It wasn't a crime scene yet."

"and the more she said, the more confused the desk officer got, and he finally called me down to talk to her," Brett finished his explanation.

Knowing that Ellen was involved, Steve believed that every word of the story was indeed true. What he still didn't understand was why it had all occurred, but during the time Brett was talking, he had calmed down considerably. He took a deep breath, turned back to his wife, and asked, "Ellen, I'm really confused. Why don't you tell me what is going on?"

Ellen also took a long deep breath, and, for once, she relished the silence in the room. She hadn't done anything wrong, and she didn't see any reason for Steve to get involved. Turning to Brett, she inquired, "You're the investigating officer, right? I don't have to tell him anything, do I?"

Brett opened his mouth to answer, but Steve spoke first. "What? Ellen, why wouldn't you want me to know?"

Quickly responding, she practically spat her words. "Well, you seem to think I did something wrong, and"

"I didn't say that," Steve interrupted, his voice rising in volume.

"You didn't have to!" she shot back.

The argument might have continued, but, once again, Brett felt like he needed to referee. "Excuse me." He had to speak rather loudly.

Both of them looked at him, and, in the hopes of dispelling the tension that was building, he spoke quietly. "Mrs. Sloan, even though Steve isn't officially assigned to this case, he really does need to hear what you have to say." Ellen's glare narrowed in on Detective Collins, while Steve's face showed a look of smug satisfaction. "Let me explain," Brett continued. "You may not realize it, Ma'am, but you actually could be in a lot of trouble here. From a police perspective, you may very well be considered a suspect in Mr. Hackett's murder."

"I didn't murder him!" Ellen burst out. "I did go to see him, and I did hit him with a baseball bat, but he was alive and well when I left his apartment!"

"You hit him with a baseball bat?" A new worry rose up within Steve.

Remembering that she was still angry with her husband, she crossed her arms, looked at Detective Collins, and stated, "I'm not saying anything else until he leaves."

"Ellen!" Steve was not only shocked, but also hurt by her words, so he attacked back. "You have to tell me what happened!"

She remained resolved in her posture and stubbornly kept silent.

Steve tried again. "Ok, I'll leave, but I'll just go and stand on the other side of that two-way mirror and listen from out there." He looked at her, but saw no change in her demeanor. Deciding to change his tactics with the hopes of reasoning with her, he calmed his voice and continued speaking. "Ellen, at some point in time, I'm going to find out what happened," he paused, but then added, "I only want to help you, Honey."

Ellen knew he was right, but she hated to admit it. She huffed, kept her arms crossed in front of her, rolled her eyes upward, and emitted a small, "Arghh." She finally looked directly at her husband. "I didn't do anything wrong, Steve, and I didn't kill Hackett."

Glad that she was talking again, he nodded. "I'm sure that you didn't. Now, why don't you start from the beginning and tell me what did happen."

"I first met Sam a few years ago."

"Sam?" Steve repeated, surprised that she was referring to him in such a familiar manner.

"I didn't know that he was mob hit man at the time, and"

The door to the interrogation room burst open interrupting her story, and Cheryl announced. "Steve, Chief Masters is in the captain's office, and he isn't too happy about the latest dumpster killing. He wants you there, _now_."

The poor timing was unbelievable to Steve. He released a huge sigh, showing his annoyance at the entire situation, and then turned to his wife. "Ellen, this should only take a few minutes. Just don't say anything else until I get back, ok?"

Since Brett had informed her that she was a possible murder suspect, she had been worried, but as she looked into Steve's eyes, she sensed that the situation was worse than she had originally thought. She nodded her answer, took comfort in her husband's reassuring smile, and watched him as he left the room.

Brett waited an awkward minute and then asked, "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

In a quiet voice, she replied, "No, thank you."

"Well, I'll just wait outside until Steve gets back. If you'll remain in here, I'm sure it won't be long." He nervously smiled and exited, leaving Ellen wondering if her earlier decision had indeed been the right one after all.

----------

Steve had grabbed the file folders from his desk and headed into Captain Woodruff's office, mentally recalling as many of the details of the cases as he could, hoping to be able to answer Chief Masters' questions quickly and get back to the interrogation room. The door was slightly ajar, and Steve waited only a brief moment before he received the order to "Come in." The captain was seated as his desk and the chief was standing next to the desk, his height giving a sense of extreme superiority, something that Steve found a little intimidating.

"Lieutenant Sloan," Captain Woodruff began, "would you please update Chief Masters on the dumpster killings case?" Steve hadn't missed the fact that the discussion had turned directly to the murders, skipping all pleasantries.

"Yes, Sir. There are now six murders with similar MOs, which leads us to believe that they were committed by the same person." He handed the files over to Chief Masters and continued to briefly recount the details of each of them. Chief Masters perused the paperwork as Steve spoke, glancing down at the detective only every now and then.

While Steve was explaining the details of the third crime scene, one of his colleagues came to the open door and signaled for Captain Woodruff to join him in the hall. Realizing that the matter didn't concern him and that the captain already knew about the incident, Steve continued on with his report. Captain Woodruff returned about five minutes later and quietly took his seat behind the desk again.

Steve tried to make the summary as complete as he could, while keeping it as succinct as possible, wanting to leave and return to what he deemed a more important matter. The chief had a few questions, which Steve answered to the satisfaction of his superior.

Steve was relieved when Chief Masters said, "Very good, Lieutenant, I assume you realize that this case is your top priority."

"Yes, Sir, I do." Steve looked from the chief to his captain. He would make it his top priority as soon as he cleared up the situation with Ellen. "Will that be all?"

"No, Lieutenant. There is one more thing," Captain Woodruff informed him.

"What's that, Sir?" Steve tried to appear patient, but on the inside he was wishing that this interrogation would be over with so that he could begin to conduct one of his own.

"I understand that your wife was brought in here this morning, a material witness to the murder of Samuel Hackett."

"No, Sir, that isn't correct. She voluntarily came in, and I'm sure that she isn't involved. Detective Collins and I were beginning to gather the details when you called me in here."

Chief Masters furrowed his brow at the news and seemed very interested, but didn't interfere with the conversation.

Captain Woodruff stood up and handed Steve a piece of paper. "Well, Lieutenant, that's not how the FBI views it."

Steve took the report and looked at it, both shocked and rendered speechless by what it said. Captain Woodruff began to explain the situation to Chief Masters. "They've taken Mrs. Sloan into protective custody."

Steve quickly turned and headed out of the office in search for Ellen. As if Captain Woodruff could read his mind, he called after him, "Don't bother, Lieutenant. She's already gone."


	3. From This Day Forward

****

Chapter 3 From This Day Forward

Three hours later, Steve sat in the doctors' lounge at Community General Hospital, rubbing his forehead, trying to rid himself of the aching in it that had started shortly after his meeting with Chief Masters.

"Son, you said you hadn't eaten any lunch, are you sure you don't want to go to the cafeteria and get something?"

"No, Dad, I'm not hungry," Steve told his father.

Jesse, who had only been in the room for a few minutes, couldn't believe what he was hearing and also couldn't help the words from coming out, "It must really be bad if you don't want to eat the cafeteria food."

His comment was returned with a sharp stare from Steve, and Mark was about to come to his son's defense when a loud ringing came from the front pocket of his white lab coat. The older doctor gave Jesse a look that told him the discussion wasn't over with, while he reached into the pocket and opened up his phone. "Mark Sloan," he pleasantly said into the receiver.

As Mark turned away from them to hold his conversation, Jesse sat quietly looking at Steve. From the moment he had entered the doctors' lounge, he knew there was a problem, and he had listened intently as Steve explained the events that had transpired at the precinct.

__

Steve took the report and looked at it, both shocked and rendered speechless by what was on it. Captain Woodruff explained the situation to Chief Masters. "They've taken Mrs. Sloan into protective custody."

Steve quickly turned and headed out of the office in search of Ellen. As if Captain Woodruff could read his mind, he called after him, "Don't bother, Lieutenant. She's already gone."

Not wanting to believe his captain, Steve practically ran to the interrogation room where he had left his wife just a short while ago. Not only was she gone, but another detective was already occupying it, conducting an interview of his own.

Brett Collins was nowhere to be seen, and, for a minute or two, Steve wandered aimlessly around the squad room trying to figure out what kind of trouble Ellen had gotten herself into this time.

"Lieutenant Sloan," Chief Masters called to him.

Steve snapped out his reverie and looked at his superior but didn't say a word. The tall man had evidently been on the phone and was putting it away.

"Let's talk in Captain Woodruff's office."

Steve was so dumbfounded over his wife being taken into protective custody that he wasn't sure what to do. The fleeting thoughts of running out to the parking lot in hopes of catching them or making a call to colleagues at the FBI passed through his mind, but he followed the chief's order and accompanied the man into the office, where Captain Woodruff was already seated behind his desk.

Chief Masters closed the door and began to speak, "I really don't know what this is all about, Lieutenant, but I do know that when someone is taken into protective custody, their spouse should go with them or, at the very least, be informed. And neither of those things happened. The only exception would be if they need protection from their spouse, and I don't believe that is the case either."

Steve shook his head and realized that he had been pondering the same things.

"I've put a call in to a friend of mine at the FBI," the Chief of Police continued, "and I should hear back any time now, but I suspect that this is not a normal case. While we're waiting, tell me what you know about it so far."

Since Mark was still on the phone, Jesse kept his voice low. "Did Chief Masters ever hear back from his friend?"

Steve released a deep breath. "Oh, yeah."

__

Most of the details were still a confused jumble to Steve, so Brett Collins was located and summoned to Captain Woodruff's office also. Brett was in the middle of his explanation when Chief Masters' phone rang, and he held out his hand indicating for the detective to stop his story momentarily so that he could take the call.

"Hello."

The room fell silent as all watched the appearance of the usually expressionless face of the Chief of Police change to deep concern, almost worry.

"Are you sure about that?"

The room stayed quiet, but Steve's heart began to race.

"Thank you for the information." The chief paused. "No, we'll handle it from here. Good bye."

As Masters closed his phone, he kept the somber look on his face. "That was my friend in the FBI that I mentioned earlier. I'm afraid that he can't help us. Everything to do with Samuel Hackett is classified information."

Steve's heart sank. This was not the news that he had hoped to hear.

Jesse desperately wanted to cheer up his friend, but wasn't sure what to say, so he offered, "Well, at least you don't have to worry about arguing about what color you want to paint the living room tonight."

Steve didn't see the comment for what it was, an attempt at lightening the mood, and instead he snapped, "Jesse, we don't argue every night!"

Unprepared for his friend's reaction, Jesse's eyes grew big and his mouth fell open a little, but before he could say anything, Steve continued. "I know that you don't really like Ellen, Jess, but I do, and we don't argue all the time."

"Steve, it isn't that I don't like Ellen. I like Ellen just fine."

"You don't act like it."

Jesse wasn't sure what provoked his friend's words, and he wasn't sure if it was the right time to pursue the issue, but he couldn't help himself. "Why would you say that? I like Ellen, it's just that" He stopped talking, realizing too late that he would have to explain himself and he wasn't sure that he really wanted to. He hadn't been lying when he said that he liked Ellen, but, as of yet, he hadn't been able to get to know her very well, and sometimes he wondered if he ever would. In his opinion, she seemed too impetuous for his best friend, and more than once when they couldn't agree on things, he had wondered if the marriage would last.

"Just that what?" Steve demanded.

"Look, Steve, calm down. I know that you're upset with Ellen's disappearance, and you should be, but you're overreacting here. I do like your wife, I like her a lot." Suddenly, realizing that his words might be misconstrued, he clarified himself. "Well, I don't like her a lot, I like her ayou know, I just like her."

Before the discussion could erupt into a bigger argument, Mark had finished his phone conversation and interrupted them. "We've got a problem."

Both Steve and Jesse immediately turned and looked at him.

Mark ignored their stares of perplexity and continued talking. "When you told me what had happened, I made a call to my friend, Special Agent Dunleavy."

Steve clearly remembered the last encounter he'd had with the FBI agent. When he had lost his temper, Dunleavy had kicked him out of an interview with the one man that Steve thought could help find the cure for a biologically altered smallpox that his dad and Jesse had contracted. Steve hadn't left the best impression, and he had to wonder if Dunleavy would even want to help now.

"Agent Dunleavy did some investigating and, Steve, I hate to tell you this, but Ellen wasn't taken by the FBI."

"What?"

"There was no order to take her into custody, no agents were assigned to pick her up, and she isn't being held at any of their safe house locations."

Still in shock, Steve asked, "Are you sure?"

Mark patted him on the shoulder, "Yes, I'm quite sure. I had Special Agent Dunleavy double check his sources, and according to him, the FBI wasn't even investigating Samuel Hackett."

Steve stood and started to walk out of the lounge, but after exchanging quick glances with each other, both Mark and Jesse moved to stop him. "Son, where are you going?"

The look that was in Steve's face was a mixture of complete confusion and desperation. He hesitated for a minute, just staring into his father's eyes, hoping to find reassurance. "Back to the station. I need to file a missing person's report."

----------

It was several hours and many heated words later, that Steve found himself driving home. Officially, a person wasn't missing for 48 hours, and he knew that, but even Captain Woodruff agreed that Ellen's disappearance was not a normal circumstance. The captain had apologized at least a dozen times and had himself been doing all he could to identify the fake FBI agents, but he had to admit to his detective, that even though they had an artist sketch of the two men, it wasn't extremely helpful. Not at all satisfied with the captain's attempts, Steve's temper went out of control, and if his dad hadn't been there to calm him down, he might not currently still be on the payroll of the Los Angeles Police Department.

A little hesitantly, Brett Collins suggested that Steve return home in case whoever took Ellen might attempt to contact him there. Extremely angry with himself for not thinking of that sooner, Steve stormed hurriedly out of the station, followed by his father who mumbled something about picking up some dinner and meeting him there.

Mark phoned an order into Barbecue Bob's, which was ready when he arrived, and then headed to his son's house. He figured that he was about ten minutes behind Steve and hoped that those ten minutes wouldn't be enough time for him to receive bad news by himself. Mark hadn't spent as much time with his son since the marriage, but the relationship they shared was still as strong as it had ever been. He knew that Ellen could be impetuous and sometimes even down right annoying, but he still loved her and thought she was an excellent match for Steve. The two of them were always happy in each other's company. Mark chuckled to himself when he realized what had just passed through his mind. Their relationship had started rather shakily with them bickering and arguing most of the time, but now they rarely fought, and when they did, it seemed to be a friendly banter.

Mark pulled his car into the driveway, turned it off, picked up the carryout bags, and started toward the house. He saw that the front door was slightly ajar and wasn't sure if he should be worried or not.

"Steve," the father called out as he pushed the door open. The sight that greeted him was not at all what he expected. He stood in shock.

The living room had been ransacked. Most of the furniture was turned over and cushions were slashed, their stuffing strewn across the carpet in clumps. An antique lamp lay on the floor, in a thousand pieces, after apparently having been tossed from its usual place in the far corner. Books and knick-knacks were laying haphazardly all around the room. Pictures were either hanging crooked on their hooks or resting broken among the rest of the mess.

Steve was silently crouched on the living room floor, amidst the total chaos. He was holding a picture of Ellen and him taken on their wedding day. The glass covering the picture was cracked in several places. He didn't look up at his father, but instead seemed to be lost in a world of his own. He was running his finger along the image of Ellen's face. Mark had to fight back the anger and tears that were welling up in his eyes, and wondered why Steve could still be so calm.

After standing perfectly still, surveying the room, and clutching the carryout bags, Mark finally found his senses and started to walk toward the back of the house where the two bedrooms were.

"Don't bother, Dad." The words were spoken softly. "They were very thorough."

"Have you called it in?"

Still keeping his eyes on the photo, Steve shook his head. "No."

-----------

The carryout had grown cold hours ago. The police had arrived, and Captain Woodruff himself showed up, along with three CSU teams. Although he could become a little testy, Steve had always found his superior to be objective, but the barked orders that came out of the mouth of the red-faced man showed his clear concern.

It had taken several hours, but the entire house had been gone through, hundreds of bags of evidence collected. Officers also searched the yard and interviewed neighbors, but no one had seen or heard anything. The work was completed, and having nothing else to do, Captain Woodruff approached Steve and his father. "There was no sign of forced entry."

"Well, they could have used Ellen's key," Mark volunteered.

Steve sat uncharacteristically silent in a chair, still holding his wedding picture.

"They were obviously searching for something. Any idea what it might have been, Steve?"

He looked up at his captain for a few seconds, and then shook his head in reply. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

"If your wife had something, where would she hide it? There could be a chance that they didn't find it."

Steve slowly surveyed the room, now completely disarrayed, and it occurred to him that the intruders must have looked in every conceivable place. "I have no idea, Sir. It looks to me like they did a pretty thorough search."

Captain Woodruff had to agree. "We also need to consider the possibility that this has nothing to do with your wife's disappearance. They didn't leave any ransom note or threat. It could be someone who has a grudge against you, and we all know that someone like that wouldn't have any problem breaking into a house."

Steve didn't react the way the captain would have expected. Actually, he didn't react at all. Realizing that his detective was too emotionally and physically distraught to be of much help, Captain Woodruff replied, "Well, if you think of anything else"

Steve nodded his understanding and agreement to contact him if anything new came to mind.

"I'll be going now. Get some rest, Steve. And don't worry about the dumpster killings; I'll give the files to Brett."

The case that had been so pressing earlier hadn't even crossed Steve's mind since Ellen had been taken. His police instincts rose up, "Captain, I can handle it."

Very firmly, the captain replied, "No, Lieutenant, you can't. And it's not because I've lost my confidence in you." He softened his voice and explained further. "Steve, with the pressure that the chief is putting on me, I need someone who can give that case their total attention, and right now, you need to be focusing your attention on this case."

Steve kept his gaze on Captain Woodruff as he continued to speak. "Officially, you can't be assigned to it. But unofficially, I'm sure that Sergeant Banks will be more than happy for your assistance. I don't take too kindly to someone attacking my officers like this, and I want my best detectives on it." Captain Woodruff left no room for further argument and exited the house.

Mark wasn't sure what to say to his distraught son as they sat alone in the disheveled mess that was once the living room, so he didn't say anything. The silence was awkward for him, and he was worried about Steve's uncharacteristic calmness. His son kept staring at the cracked photograph and showed no emotion whatsoever.

After a few minutes of silence, when Mark had decided to try to talk Steve into coming to the beach house for the night, his cell phone rang. "Mark Sloan," he answered, and Steve looked at him with mild interest.

"Isn't there someone else that could handle it?"

Steve could tell from his father's words that it was the hospital, and his dad was needed for an emergency.

"Are you sure? I have a personal matter that needs my attention."

"Dad," his son interrupted. "Go. They need you more than I do."

Mark looked into his son's eyes, and even though there was pain in them, he could also see the sincerity. So reluctantly, he said, "Ok, I'll be there as soon as I can. Have you notified Dr. Travis?"

----------

Sometime later, Steve stirred in the living room chair waking himself up, and he wondered how long he had been asleep. The wedding photo was lying flat on his chest, and he set it up to look at it again. Ellen had been so beautiful that day. He blinked back tears as he silently prayed that whoever had her wasn't hurting her.

He shook his head and decided that even though it would be a lonely place tonight, he would sleep better in bed, so locking the front door and turning off the lights as he went, he headed down the hallway to the master bedroom. The hard thump to the back of his left shoulder caught him by surprise and thrust him down to the floor. He reached out with his hands to instinctively break his fall, but was knocked flat on his stomach by a hard kick that sent his arms flailing out in front of him. The sharp boot stomped on him again, this time crushing his left hand under its weight. He not only felt, but also heard, bones breaking, and one last kick to the side of his face sent his mind into total darkness.


	4. For Better, For Worse

****

Chapter 4 - For Better, For Worse

Ellen pounded her fists on the floor and let out a loud, "Arghh!" She felt angrier and more frustrated than she could ever remember feeling before, but the rumbling from her empty stomach kept her from concentrating clearly, and she couldn't formulate a plan to get out of her present circumstances. When she had left her home earlier that morning, she would have never guessed that the day would unfold the way it did. Samuel Hackett's past was filled with professional Mafia dealings, so when the two FBI agents had arrived at the station to take her away, she hadn't been totally surprised.

__

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Detective Brett Collins entered followed by two men dressed in suits and ties that Ellen didn't recognize. Without waiting for an introduction, the taller one spoke. "Ma'am, I'm Agent Smyth of the FBI," he held out his identification as he continued, "Are you Ellen Sharp Sloan?"

Both men looked exactly like the stereotype of a federal agent complete with a gun hanging just inside their suit coats, and she nodded her head as she replied, "Yes."

"We are here in connection with the murder of Samuel Hackett. It is my understanding that you were in his apartment prior to his death?"

"I was," she began, "but it was the day be-"

"Ma'am, please don't say anything else," he quickly interrupted. "We need to take you into protective custody. We have received INTEL that your life could be in danger and time is of the essence. We'll hear your story when we have you secured in a safe location."

For a brief moment, Ellen felt a passing fear, but it was quickly replaced with excitement as she realized that this new adventure could provide a basis for a great story. "I need to tell my husband," she announced.

"Ma'am, as you have already been told, time is of the essence," stated the second agent, who had thus far remained nameless. "He'll be notified, but we need to get you out of here as quickly as possible." He was very insistent, taking her by the elbow and helping her to a standing position.

Thinking back on it, Ellen knew that she should have insisted on them finding Steve before they left the precinct, but at the time, she was still annoyed with him, and she only made a few minor objections. They led her away, and she was very pleased when they escorted her to the parking lot and opened the back door of a newer model Lincoln Town Car, indicating for her to get in. She started making mental notes of everything that was happening for the story she would write later and tried to get information out of the agents as they began their journey.

__

"I don't believe you told me your name," she addressed the nameless agent, who was now sitting in the driver's seat.

"No, Ma'am, I didn't," was his short reply.

Ellen, caught only a little off guard by his curt answer, persisted, "Well, since we're going to be spending some time together, don't you think it would be a good idea for me to know what it is?"

He kept his gaze on the road and after a long minute of silence, stated, "No, Ma'am, I don't think it would be good idea."

"Am I just supposed to call you hey, you'?"

Agent Smyth let a small grin appear on his face for a few moments, and then quickly became serious as he turned his head to look at Ellen. "Mrs. Sloan, why don't you just sit back and enjoy the ride? We're not at liberty to answer any of your questions. Our job is to insure your safety. I'm sure that you can understand why it has to be this way." He gave her a very austere look. "And we do have permission to cuff and gag you if necessary," he stated with a smile on his face as if he were making a joke, but she wasn't convinced.

That was the first time that Ellen had a feeling something wasn't quite right, and, thinking back, she should have kept up her inquiries, but instead, she did as Agent Smyth had requested. When they pulled into the parking lot of a nearby mall, she watched with interest as the unnamed agent got out of the car and walked over to a small, two-door Dodge Neon parked just a few spaces away from them.

__

Ellen didn't have the clearest view from the backseat, but it appeared to her that her escort was gaining entrance to the car illegally. She couldn't help from blurting out, "He's breaking into that car!"

"No, Ma'am, he's not," Agent Smyth stated.

Mr. Anonymous, a name Ellen had mentally given the man, opened the driver's door, sat down, and then totally disappeared from her view, almost as if he were looking for something on the floor of the vehicle. After a minute, the car's engine started up and it was backed out of the space and driven over toward them.

"Mrs. Sloan, if you'll come with me. For security reasons, we need to switch vehicles."

Ellen was a little surprised by the exchange, but she obeyed Agent Smyth's orders and soon found herself in the tiny backseat of the Neon. Both of her escorts were tall men, and they gave no regard to her discomfort when they adjusted their front seats as far back as possible to accommodate their long legs.

"It's a little squished back here," Ellen complained.

Agent Smyth turned and looked at her, giving her the same smile as before. "Relax, Mrs. Sloan. It shouldn't be that long."

As they pulled out of the mall on to a main street and headed east, she asked, "Could we maybe get something to eat? It is lunchtime, you know."

This time Agent Smyth didn't bother looking at her. "As I just said, it shouldn't be long."

Ellen tried to make herself as comfortable as possible, and while doing so noticed that there was no key in the ignition. She evaluated her situation and realized that she was trapped, there was no way to escape. And she also realized that, even though she hadn't meant to be, she was in trouble again.

Ellen shifted on the cold hard concrete floor trying to get in a comfortable position. She had no idea how many bruises were on her body, but she was sure there were a lot. Right now, she was angry with herself for not trusting her instincts earlier in the day. She had always thought of herself as confident, able to handle any kind of situation that might come her way, but, even though she didn't want to admit it, there had been a time that afternoon when she was terrified.

Mr. Smyth's definition of long' certainly didn't match hers. She guessed that two hours might not be considered a long time if a person were climbing Mount Everest or sailing across the Pacific Ocean, but being confined in the tiny backseat, it seemed like an eternity.

Ellen continued to ask questions that continued to remain unanswered by the two men, which led her to make comments under her breath about the unprofessional treatment that she was receiving. She could tell by the expressions on the faces of her captors, who she no longer believed to be real FBI agents, that she was irritating them, but the silent lull in a conversation had always bothered her, and she couldn't help but speak up. She knew that some people, including her husband, found it an annoying habit, but something inside of her begged for the quietness to be filled, and she had no trouble complying.

Finally, the two men looked at each other and nodded, as if silently agreeing on something and the driver of the car pulled it off of the almost deserted two-lane highway onto the soft shoulder. They had been traveling east out of LA for over an hour, and Ellen had kept track of the roads and knew that she could find her way back, but when the car stopped in the middle of a desolate area, she was suddenly filled with panic.

Both men quickly exited the car, Agent Smyth pulling his seat forward, grabbing her arm, and yanking her out of the backseat. By the time she had ungracefully stumbled out, the other captor grabbed her hands and soon she found them cuffed together behind her back.

"What are you doing?" she yelled, but was quickly rewarded with a sharp slap across the mouth and then a thick cloth was inserted, wrapped around, and tied tightly behind her head. She mumbled loudly through the gag, but another slap quieted her down, and the last thing she saw was a dark hood covering her face and felt it being tied around her neck. She kicked and fought them as they forced her to the ground to tie her feet together. After that, she was shown no mercy as they roughly put her back into the car.

She cried out and yelled through her gag, as she heard the car's engine start up again. She wiggled and kicked within the restrictions of her restraints, but soon, the fear caused from the order of, "Shut up or we'll throw you in the trunk!" caused her to settle down.

Ellen stood up for the probably the hundredth time and felt her way in the darkness to the only door of her small prison. It didn't have a handle or hinges on her side, and, try as hard as she could, she couldn't push it open. She had even backed up to the opposite wall and rammed it with her shoulder, but that only caused what she was sure would be a huge bruise and still the door remained unmoved. She also tried kicking it with no luck.

After arriving, they had removed her handcuffs and locked her in the dark empty room. She quickly freed herself from the rest of the things and then shouted and pounded on the door to be let loose, complaining all of the time about the unfair treatment. Finally, she had collapsed to the floor and placed her ear to the door for a very long time, hoping to hear voices or any kind of noise, for that matter, that would assure her that life still existed outside of her safe house.' But she heard nothing except the beating of her own heart.

She had no idea what time it was. She had her watch on, but it had been impossible to see anything for several hours now. When they first left her alone, a tiny beam of light shone from under the door, and when her eyes adjusted to it, she spent some time surveying the room. Its walls and floor were concrete, and she guessed that it measured about seven feet square. She decided that it must have been a storage closet of some kind, but now it was totally empty, except for her. She knew that nightfall must have come because there was no longer any light emanating from the crack. She pulled her cardigan sweater tighter around her body, hoping to take away the tiny chill she was feeling. She was thirsty, hungry, and tired, but most of all she was lonely, and suddenly tears welled up in her eyes as she wished with all of her heart that Steve would find his way to her soon.

----------

Mark was exhausted, and he knew that Jesse was probably feeling the same way. They had been treating the victims of a gas explosion all night, however, the last of their patients had been released from the ER and sent up to a regular room. He was thankful that no one had actually died in the explosion, but he knew that some of the victims would have a long road ahead of them before they achieved a full recovery.

After Mark signed the last of the reports, he glanced at his watch. "Wow. It's later than I thought."

"What time is it?" Jesse asked, glancing up from his own paperwork.

"It's almost six in the morning."

Rubbing his eyes, the younger doctor said, "I think I'll lay down for a couple hours in the sleep room. Care to join me?"

"No, I'd better go back over to Steve's house. I somehow doubt that he's had a very restful night. I thought maybe I'd grab some breakfast at a drive-thru restaurant on the way over."

As tired as he was, Jesse didn't want Mark making that trip alone. "Would you like some company?"

The older man smiled at his younger colleague, and, thinking that it would be good to have another person along, he replied, "Only if you really want to."

Jesse flashed one of his contagious smiles. "You know me, I never miss a free meal."

After cleaning up, the two of them carried out the plan, and when they arrived, they walked up to the front door, Mark carrying the bag of food. He rang the doorbell and they waited patiently for a minute and then rang it again. When no one answered it the second time, Mark took his cell phone out. "Maybe he doesn't know it's us." He punched in the number and as it rang the expression on his face grew more worried.

Jesse didn't need to be told that Mark wasn't receiving any answer, and he started pounding on the front door. "Steve! It's us! Steve! Buddy!"

Two very concerned doctors stood on the front porch, and finally Jesse tried the doorknob and was surprised when it turned freely in his hand. As they entered the house, they immediately noticed that the carpet was stained and that the nap was roughed up as if something had been dragged across it. The bloody path seemed to start in the hallway and lead to the front door, and, without searching the house, both men instinctively knew that it would be empty.

----------

Ellen must have actually fallen asleep, because now her uncomfortable slumber was being disturbed by noises coming from outside the door. When it was opened and the light flooded the small room, she squinted her eyes and found that she instinctively put her hand up in front of them to block the brightness. She was too sleepy to react quickly enough, and before she knew it, she heard something drop on the floor, and the door was closed and being locked again.

"No!" she yelled, running in the direction of it, but before she could reach it, she tripped and fell on top of the thing that had been put there. A groan of pain surprised her, however, and she knew instantly it wasn't a something, but a someone — her husband.


	5. In Sickness and In Health

****

Chapter 5 - In Sickness and In Health

"Steve!" Ellen cried out desperately as she got up from her fallen position and reached out somewhat aimlessly in the dark.

A low moan was her only reply, so, with fumbling fingers, she cautiously felt the body on the floor beside her. She could tell that he was lying on his stomach, and beginning at his shoulder, she followed his right arm down to his wrists and wasn't surprised to discover that they were tied together behind his back. While she was investigating, she asked, "Honey, are you all right?"

There was no reply, and all she could hear was his somewhat raspy breathing. "I guess the answer is no', huh?" she said out loud, answering for him, while carefully feeling the ropes that held his hands. "I'm gonna try to untie these, just hold still." Ellen knew right away that since he was obviously unresponsive to her, he wouldn't be moving, but she didn't like the silence and filled it with her own voice. "Let's see. Here's the end of one of the ropes, let me just follow it up, andI think it goes through hereno, that doesn't seem to be workingmaybe here it's hard to tell in the darkI could be making this all worse than it already is and oh, I think it's coming loose!"

Continuing to feel her way, she pulled the rope's end through a loop and then proceeded to untangle the knot as best she could without really seeing it, finally working it loose enough to free her husband's arms. "There, you can move your hands now," she proudly informed him.

The room was silent except for the slight sound of the natural movement of Steve's arms falling away from each other, and it frustrated her. "Steve, Honey, talk to me." She got close to what she hoped was his face and, once again, was reminded of his uneven breathing, and it worried her.

She didn't know whether he had any broken bones and tried to remember what she had been told in a first aid class she'd taken years ago when she was writing a story about paramedics. After considering it for a few minutes, she decided to roll Steve over on to his back to what she was sure would be a more comfortable position. After all, who would want their face smack up against a cold, concrete floor?

She moved his right arm from his back to the side of his body and did the same with his left one. Then, very deliberately and with loving care, she rotated him to his back and sat away a small distance.

Since their captors had unceremoniously thrown Steve in with her and left, there was absolutely no light coming under the door. She figured that it must still be nighttime, and she contemplated what to do next as she stared into the blackness where she knew her husband lay.

----------

For the second time in the past twenty-four hours, Mark watched as a forensics team examined his son's home.

Captain Woodruff had arrived on the scene, angrier than he had been the night before, barking orders out of pure frustration. Cheryl, who was now the lead investigator of the case, tried her best to avoid her explosive superior, although she admitted that she could totally understand his feelings. What bothered her most was the blood on the carpet, which had immediately been identified as Steve's type. There wasn't a lot of it, but the fact that there was even a small amount caused her to worry.

"Sergeant Banks," the red-faced captain called to her.

"Yes, Sir," she immediately replied, reporting to his location.

"I want Sloan and his wife found! This case gets top priority, use whatever resources you need. Is that understood?!" He was bellowing his commands.

"Yes, Sir."

"And keep me informed every hour on your progress."

She knew that she was repeating herself, but, for a third time, she said, "Yes, Sir."

Captain Woodruff ran his hand through the little hair that was left on the top of his head and took a deep breath. He approached Mark, who was standing next to Jesse, both of them were observing the CSU personnel working on the floor, and said, "Dr. Sloan, don't worry. We'll find them."

Mark gave the man an obligatory smile and nodded. Inwardly, he felt helpless. None of what had happened made any sense. Ellen being taken from the police station, the conflicting stories from the FBI, and now Steve being snatched by force from his own home. If someone wanted them dead, why go to all this trouble? Why not just kill Steve? It wasn't that Mark liked the second option, with Steve being abducted there was still the hope that he was alive, but it just didn't make any sense. Whoever had them must want them alive, and Mark's mind replayed all of the happenings of the past two days trying to piece together the sparse clues.

Cheryl took a deep breath and looked at the two doctors, who she knew were as concerned about her partner as she was. Mark stared at the stained carpet, shook his head in despair and, as if he couldn't be near the offensive surroundings anymore, walked into the kitchen.

The detective needed to talk to Dr. Travis, so she was glad that he didn't follow the older man. This wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation because Cheryl was pretty sure that he wasn't going to like her questions. But she gathered her courage and approached the young doctor.

----------

As the day awoke on the outside of their prison, a small beam of light began to shine under the door. Ellen knew from when she arrived the day before that the room they were locked in was inside of a building. Although she hadn't been able to see because of the hood on her head, she was able to hear, and what she heard was a sliding door, something that reminded her of a garage door going up. Her captors had walked a short distance inside the building before depositing her in the tiny cell.

With the little light that now infiltrated the small room, Ellen examined Steve's wounds, feeling them when necessary, but trying not to harm him. She determined that they must be cuts surrounded by dried blood, mostly on the left side of his face.

As she came to his left hand, she took it in her own to hold it, and instantly knew that was a mistake when a cry of pain emanated from her companion.

----------

"Cheryl, you don't actually believe that I had anything to do with this, do you?" Jesse was totally shocked that she had even brought the subject up.

The detective remained as professional as she could. "It's standard procedure to investigate the background of victims in cases like this. You and Steve are business partners. So, I'll ask you again, what is the financial status of the restaurant that you co-own with Steve?"

Jesse knew that she was right, all avenues had to be explored, but he was hurt by her inquiries and took her questions personally. "The financial status of Bob's is good. Actually, we had an excellent month last month." Too late, he realized that might not have been the best answer to give.

Cheryl gave him a knowing look and said louder than necessary, "The success of your business could be a motive for _someone_ to want to hurt Steve." The pressure of the two disappearances was getting to the detective, and she gave loose to her feelings.

Jesse considered her reply, and then realizing who that implicated said, "No! I would never do anything to hurt Steve or Ellen! They're my friends." He was shouting. The lack of sleep added to his deep concern, and it came out in his reply.

His loud response had drawn the attention of the other people in the room, who looked up from their work very interested in where the heated discussion might go. Mark, too, heard the argument and returned from the kitchen to see what was happening.

"I didn't accuse you of anything, Dr. Travis"

"Yes, you did!" Jesse interrupted, anger clearly showing on his face.

Mark stepped between them, immediately assessing the explosive situation. "This bickering isn't helping us find Steve or Ellen." He felt as if he were refereeing a fight. "I know that we are all upset right now, but, Cheryl, Jesse had nothing to do with this."

A smug smile filled Jesse's face, but Mark continued, "And, Jesse, Cheryl is only doing her job."

It was her turn to be self-satisfied. "I know that you are both tired and frustrated, so am I. But we're after the same thing here and that's to find my son and his wife." Mark's voice was strained with emotion, and both Cheryl and Jesse had been put in their place and were embarrassed by their behavior, inwardly wishing the incident had never happened, knowing that it probably had only served to add to Mark's anguish.

--------

"Oouw!" he gasped.

She immediately drew back. "Steve, Honey. You're awake?"

"Ellen," was all he could manage.

She moved her head close to where she thought his would be. "I'm right here."

It was too dark for her to see the small smile that appeared on his face. "You ok?" he asked in a weak voice.

"No! I'm not ok! I was kidnapped from the precinct, shoved into the backseat of the smallest car I have ever been in and then thrown into this dark room! How could I possibly be ok?" In her explanation, she couldn't help but use her hands, and, not being able to see clearly, she had inadvertently punched him.

The contact with his left shoulder had traveled down his arm and settled in his broken fingers eliciting another yelp of pain from him.

Realizing that she must have been the cause of his agony, she crept closer, and without realizing what she was doing, placed her knee on top of his left hand.

His cry of pain was not in any way a quiet one, and instantly his self-preservation instincts took over, causing him to reach out with his right hand and push her off him, causing her to roll backward and land on her bottom.

An "Argh" escaped her mouth as she hit the hard floor.

Steve wasn't sure that he could utter words just yet, but he knew that he'd acted incorrectly and needed to apologize, so he took in a deep breath, which he noted caused a great deal of pain to the ribs on his left side. "Ellen?"

Her reply didn't come immediately. "What?"

"I'm sorry I pushed you, but I think my hand is broken and you were kneeling on it, and"

Ellen reacted impulsively to offer sympathy and without thinking, she grabbed the wounded appendage, which once again produced a cry of pain from her husband. Realizing her mistake, she let go, and it dropped like a rock on to the hard concrete floor.

Steve grabbed his left forearm and cradled it against his chest. "I think I'll just pull this out of harm's way," he choked out between gritted teeth. He had learned early on in their relationship that she often acted impulsively, but it was one of those things that he had grown to accept and even come to love about her.

Ellen's feeling were hurt, and if Steve could have seen her face, he would have known that her pride had been wounded as well. She sat uncharacteristically quiet and pouted.

"Can you help me sit up?" her husband finally asked.

"Sure," she replied. Glad for something to do, she gently got behind him and supported him as he rolled up into a proper sitting position.

"There's a wall about three feet behind you. Why don't you scoot back and lean on it?"

"Ok. Good idea," he commented.

As she helped him maneuver, she mumbled quietly, "See, not _all_ of my ideas are bad ones."

Steve couldn't help the small chuckle from escaping. "I never said they were."

Ellen didn't bother replying, her mind had already switched to another topic. "Steve, how did you get hurt?"

"Let's just say someone caught me by surprise."

She softened her tone to a much more caring one. "Can you tell me what hurts?"

He took a deep breath before replying. "My back is a little sore, and so is my side." He hesitated, making a mental tally of the aching spots on his body. "My left jaw hurts when I talk, I think they kicked me there."

"They kicked you in the face! Oh, Honey, I'm so sorry!" Ellen replied in such a way that Steve knew she was on the verge of either hysteria or rage, and, at the moment, he didn't want to deal with either one.

"Shh. It's ok. I guess they didn't want me to know what was going on."

After a few moments of silence, Ellen gathered the courage to ask, "What is going on? Why are we here?"

"I'm not sure." He was finding it a little easier to breathe now that he was sitting in an upright position. "Where are we anyway?"

"I think it's someplace east of LA, but I'm not exactly sure."

Steve stifled a chuckle thinking that almost anywhere was east of LA. Then a thought suddenly came to him. "I'm trying to figure out how these guys were able to kidnap you, you don't appear to have any trouble incapacitating people, how come you save it all for me?"

Remembering what had happened to her in the car, she replied, "Well, they tied my hands and feet together, gagged me, and covered up my head."

Steve almost laughed at the image, but managed to keep quiet. It was something that had actually crossed his mind when they had first met. He was glad for the darkness around him because he was sure his expression was giving him away. "Did they hurt you?"

"I just told you what they did! Of course, they hurt me!"

"Ok, Ellen. Calm down." He groaned with pain as, in the dark, he moved his left hand without thinking.

Ellen, suddenly realizing that Steve's injuries were more severe than her own and that she was being very selfish, felt badly. "Steve, you're hurt. What can I do to help?"

Steve loved his wife, and even though he couldn't clearly see her face in the almost nonexistent light, he knew that it was showing great concern. "My left hand hurts the worst. If I remember correctly, it had a little encounter with the heel of boot."

Ellen's heart was breaking. The person she loved more than anyone else in the world, and who loved her in return as much, was in pain and asking for help. Even though she wasn't prone to doing so, she thought she might cry, and after giving herself a minute to gain control of her emotions, she had an idea. "I have something I can wrap your hand with, at least I can cover it a little bit." She took off her cardigan, leaving only a sleeveless blouse to cover the top of her body. The long sleeved sweater had given her some protection from the cold concrete floor during the night, but she was glad to make the sacrifice, and she got to work.

Steve sat still as she carefully felt for his hand and, then, very gently shrouded it with the soft garment. He couldn't see what she was using as the dressing, but whatever it was, she wrapped it around again and again, leaving him with a thick protective cover.

"Does that help?" she kindly asked when she was done and had laid his hand to rest on his leg.

"Yeah, it does," he replied. "Come and sit next to me."

She moved up close to the wall on the right side of her husband, and he wrapped his arm around her. Neither of them knew where they were or why they were being held there, but, for the time being, they both ignored thinking about the potential dangers that might lie ahead and simply enjoyed the comfort and warmth of each other's presence.


	6. To Love and To Cherish

****

Chapter 6 - To Love and To cherish

"Thank you," Mark said to the server that had just brought him one of Barbecue Bob's breakfast specials, which could have easily been called The Artery Clogger. It consisted of two fried eggs, three strips of bacon, three links of sausage, and two pancakes doused with maple syrup. Normally, Mark ordered something a little healthier, but this morning he was so preoccupied with his missing son and daughter-in-law, he didn't mind that the food on his plate would increase his cholesterol count significantly.

Will, the nervous young waiter, smiled. "You're welcome, Dr. Sloan. Is there anything else I could get for either of you?"

As tired as they were, neither Mark nor Jesse felt like they would be able to sleep, so they had decided to drive to Bob's and get some breakfast. "Not for me," Mark politely replied.

"I'm fine too, Will. Thanks," Jesse responded. The young man seemed glad to leave their presence. Jesse realized that waiting on the owners of the restaurant always made the staff a little nervous, but he wasn't sure why that was. As far as he could remember, he had never done anything to make them feel uncomfortable, but he knew they still felt that way.

While the two doctors began to eat their food, they discussed the case. The recent order that they couldn't be involved was still fresh in their minds.

__

"I know that you are both tired and frustrated, so am I. But we're after the same thing here and that's to find my son and his wife." Mark's voice was strained with emotion.

Inwardly, Cheryl and Jesse were wishing the incident had never happened, knowing that it probably had only served to add to Mark's anguish. "I'm sorry," came out of both their mouths at the same time and embarrassed smiles appeared on their faces.

Mark took a deep breath. "Well, now that the arguing is over, Cheryl, what can we do to help?"

Her answer came immediately. "Go home."

"What?" At first Mark was confused, but then reasoning it out, he asked, "Oh, you think whoever took Steve might try to contact me there?"

"No, I don't," Cheryl stated. "But you can't be involved in this case, so you might as well go home."

"Why not?" both doctors demanded simultaneously.

"Because Captain Woodruff said so." Their gazes followed her eyes as they traveled across the room to where her superior was standing. The red-faced man hadn't lowered the volume on his voice and was yelling at an undeserving CSU team member. Mark and Jesse weren't sure they wanted his wrath coming down on them, so they temporarily stopped their pleading.

"Mark, there really wasn't that much blood at the scene. I'm sure Steve is ok."

Mark nodded as he swallowed his food. "Oh, I know, Jesse. But since he was dragged across the living room, it means that someone knocked him out or at least incapacitated him."

"Must have been a pretty big guy," Jesse stated mostly under his breath, knowing that he would need a stepladder to do any real harm to his taller friend.

Responding to the comment, Mark said, "Or maybe there was more than one person involved."

Jesse nodded, having considered that himself. He swallowed his food and asked, "Why do you suppose they want Ellen and Steve?"

Mark was quiet while he thought about the answer, but then, shaking his fork at Jesse while he spoke, he said, "That's what I can't figure out, but when I do, we'll know who took them."

"Maybe Ellen really did see something at Hackett's apartment."

"Or took something. Steve said that he never really got a chance to ask her."

"Couldn't get a word in edgewise?" Jesse asked teasingly. He cut off a bite of pancake and swished it in some syrup before speaking again. "What are we gonna to do next?"

Mark glanced at his watch and then announced, "I'm going to go home, like Cheryl asked me to do."

At first, Jesse had a hard time believing that Mark would actually be following Cheryl's suggestion since Steve and Ellen were still missing. But, as he looked at the older man, he thought he saw a small twinkle in his eye and, after thinking about it for a minute, a knowing smile appeared on his face. "You've got something planned? Don't you?"

"I have a friend coming by in about thirty minutes, and I wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

Hardly able to control his excitement, Jesse asked. "Can I come along and meet your _friend_?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Mark smiled satisfactorily at the younger doctor, and the two of them were on their way.

----------

"Steve, I swear to you. I didn't take anything from Hackett's apartment." Ellen no longer felt the need to be obstinate and withhold information from her husband. "And I didn't see anything either."

"Ok, why don't you start at the beginning and tell me exactly what did happen that day." Steve hoped he sounded patient, and he tried to keep the pain he was feeling out of his voice, but he knew he had probably failed at both.

"Well, Sam called me on my cell phone and said that he had some information for me. I needed to meet him at his apartment."

"That part I already knew." They were sitting on the hard floor of their nearly black prison, a few feet from each other.

"Well, you said to start at the beginning."

"I guess I did. Sorry." It was too dark for her to see that his eyes were rolling up toward the ceiling, clearly showing his exasperation. He sometimes wondered if it were possible to actually do damage to one's eyes by rolling them, because if you could, he was destined to experience it.

"He'd given me information for stories before, so I figured that's what he was going to do again."

"A story from a Mafia hitman. Why am I not surprised?" he commented sarcastically.

"And what's wrong with me going after a story no matter who it's from?! It's what I do for a living!" She was becoming very defensive.

Not feeling up to discussing how dangerous it was to associate with anyone involved with organized crime, he changed the subject. "I'm guessing that Hackett didn't have any information for you."

Ellen sounded disgusted as she spoke. "No, he didn't. When I got there, we chatted a little, and then I asked him why he wanted to see me. As it turned out, he didn't have anything for me at all. What he really wanted was to seduce me."

"What?" Steve exclaimed, somewhat surprised.

"He cornered me on the couch, and then he tried to kiss me, and I slapped him on the face and pushed him back."

"Good." Steve had no doubt that Ellen could defend herself under such circumstances, especially since the pain she inflicted to his hand hadn't yet subsided.

"That didn't stop him. I tried to get to the door, but he kept cutting me off, so I saw a baseball bat, and I grabbed it and threatened him with it, but even then he didn't let up."

The room was still fairly dark, and Steve couldn't even make out her face, but her story was creating a very clear image in his mind. "And then what happened?"

"Well, then I swung at him and hit him with the bat on the side of his head."

Steve recalled Amanda's report that a blow from a baseball bat had killed Hackett. "And?" he prompted.

"He fell down." She stated it as if the effect was more than obvious.

"That's when you hit him again," Steve offered, remembering that when he had seen Hackett's body in Amanda's lab, she had pointed out two distinct blows to the head.

"No, I only hit him once, and then I left the apartment."

Even though Steve still had a slight headache that was causing him to feel a little dull, he had followed her story without any difficulty, but there was one thing that bothered him. "If you left the apartment, how did you know that he wasn't dead?"

"Because he got up and ran after me, calling me names and threatening me, and you have to be alive to say those kinds of words."

Steve couldn't disagree with her conclusion and thought it wise not to ask which words Hackett had used. "Do you remember seeing anyone else? Someone in the hallway, on the street? Anyone who could verify that Hackett was alive?"

The blackened room was quiet as she thought for a moment. "No, I don't. I just got out of there and ran to my car."

He could tell by her voice that she was disheartened, and he suddenly needed to encourage her. "Honey, it'll be all right." He scooted closer to where she was sitting and felt with his right hand for her cheek. Stroking it gently, he spoke, "I believe you."

She placed her hand on top of his and found the closeness of his touch very comforting, and she felt free to confess, "Steve, I'm scared."

He pulled her close to his chest, "I know. But we'll figure a way out of here. I promise."

After a silent minute, when Steve wondered if she might be on the verge of crying, she spoke. "I don't think there is a way out of here. At least I couldn't find one last night."

He kissed the top of her head and softly said, "Well, let's look again, shall we?"

----------

"I guess your friend is a little late," Jesse stated, looking at his watch for at least the twentieth time, noting that the thirty minutes had long since past.

Mark was being very mysterious about who his friend might be, even though Jesse kept badgering him about it. The older doctor had cleared the newspaper and a few bills that had come in the mail the day before off of the kitchen table. He had also emptied the old coffee grinds and started a new pot brewing in anticipation of the arrival of his guest. "Maybe he got delayed, but I'm sure he won't be long."

"Oh, so it's a he?" This was the first real clue that Mark had given him.

"Yes, it's a he, and I'm really hoping that he can help us find out what is going on." Mark paused for a moment. "I suppose the fact that he's late is a good sign. He probably wanted to check a few things out before coming here."

Jesse's mind was still pondering who the _he_ could be. "Do I know him, Mark?"

"Hmmm. Let me think," the older man teased. "Yes, I think you've met him. It's been a few years though, and I'm not sure you'd remember him."

"Well, why don't you stop being so mysterious and just tell me who he is?"

Mark opened his mouth as if he were about to answer, and then the doorbell rang. "I think our guest must finally be here."

Jesse followed Mark to the front door like a puppy anxiously following its master, and was more than surprised to see who was standing on the porch.


	7. For Richer, For Poorer

****

Chapter 7 - For Richer, For Poorer

"How did you get here so quickly?" Jesse asked, clearly voicing his confusion. "I thought it took a long time to fly from Europe?"

Ron Wagner looked at the shorter man. "I didn't fly in from Europe. I was transferred to Quantico a year ago but have been working in LA for the past two months." As he spoke, he entered the house and started toward the living room.

Surprised by the response, Jesse couldn't help but ask, "Does Amanda know that?"

His comment was totally ignored by Mark, who inquired of Ron, "Have you made any progress on our problem?"

"Wait a minute, how did he even know there was a problem?" Jesse interrupted again.

Ron deemed this question worth answering and matter-of-factly replied, "Mark called me this morning, told me what had happened to Steve, and asked for my help."

Jesse had been by Mark's side for several hours, even before they knew Steve had disappeared, and he hadn't overheard any phone calls to Ron. It didn't make sense. "I've been with Mark the whole time. I never heard him call you."

Mark was growing impatient, wanting to get to the real issue at hand, so to shut down the questioning, he clarified, "I called him from Steve's kitchen while you and Cheryl were yelling at each other."

Still slightly embarrassed about the argument, but finally understanding what had happened, Jesse replied, "Oh, that explains it."

"Good, I'm glad it's settled." Turning to the FBI agent, Mark asked, "Now. Ron, have you found out anything?"

The tall man looked from one doctor to the other and nodded his head.

----------

Steve and Ellen had spent a considerable amount of time feeling all around the inside of the small room which was their prison, Steve being able to only use his right hand. The door was a metal one, which opened outward, and when Ellen confessed that she had tried to ram it with her shoulder, Steve didn't know whether to be impressed or concerned for her safety. There was no doorknob on their side, which obviously meant that the locking device was on the outside and wasn't an option for escape. The walls were flat, smooth concrete as far up as they could reach. Finally, after finding that they had investigated every inch that they could with no success at finding a way out, they retreated back to their spots on the cold hard floor.

"See, I told you there wasn't a way out of here." She seemed pleased to be right, but at the same time, sad also.

"Well, we'll just wait until someone comes back."

"And overpower them?! Maybe we could use the pieces of rope that they tied us up with."

Ellen had misinterpreted what Steve meant, but he didn't think it would hurt to listen to her idea; they had nothing else to do. "How would we do that?"

"I don't know, um, tie them together, make a long piece and pull it tight as they walk into the room to trip them. Use one of your credit cards to jimmey the lock."

Steve couldn't help the chuckle from coming out. "Ellen, Honey. I think you've been watching too many movies," and then under his breath he added, "or reading too many _National Scoop_ articles."

"I heard that. And why wouldn't my ideas work?"

"Mainly because you would have catch them by surprise, and when they open that door, whoever they are, they will have the advantage. For one thing, their eyes will be used to the light, ours won't. By the time our eyes adjust and we figure out what's going on, the element of surprise will be long gone. As for the credit card thing, don't tell me you actually think that works?"

She was quiet for a minute more, so he added, "But it was a good idea."

"Then, maybe one of us could hide behind the door and the other one could act like we're sick-"

Steve interrupted her. "Ellen, the door opens outward. How would we hide behind it?"

"Oh!" She was very frustrated. "I don't know! And the credit card thing does work! How do you think I got into that office at Earthonomy headquarters? Instead of shooting down all of my ideas, you could be helping!"

Wanting to calm her down, Steve offered, "I'm glad that you'rethinking of options for us."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

Knowing that following the present conversation wouldn't produce anything useful, he decided to answer her question and then change the subject. "No, but I am feeling the need to rest a little." In his weakened physical condition, the exploration of the room had depleted his strength more than he had expected. His back, left side, and hand still ached, as well as his head where they had kicked him the night before.

Ellen could hear the fatigue in her husband's voice and, once again, felt like she was to blame and that she was being selfish. She knew that sometimes she could be a little overbearing, and she guessed this was probably one of those times. "I'm sorry, Steve. This is all my fault."

"No, Ellen, this isn't your fault, at least I don't think it is. I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday, and I'm feeling kind of weak."

"You didn't eat all day yesterday?" She was shocked, that was so unlike him.

"My lunch date stood me up," he teased.

Remembering that she was his lunch date, she smiled, but in the dark, her husband missed it.

Steve continued on with his explanation. "Dad got some supper for us, but I lost my appetite when I saw the house."

"The house? What house?" she asked.

"Oh," suddenly realizing that she probably didn't know that their home had been ransacked, he wondered if now was a good time to tell her, but unless he wanted to be badgered to death, he had no choice. "Remember how we've been discussing what color scheme to use in the living room?"

"Yes, but are you bringing that up? I'm really confused," she stated.

He wanted to respond, "That's how I've lived my life since I've met you," but he refrained. Instead, he announced, "Honey, you can redecorate the living room in any color you want, and the kitchen and all the other rooms in the house, for that matter."

"What? Why would I do that?"

He hadn't done a very good job of leading up to the tragedy, but he was feeling so poorly, that he decided it just didn't matter anymore. "Someone got into our house and completely destroyed everything in it."

"How? Why? Couldn't you stop them?"

Steve's sigh contained a world of frustration, being with Ellen was sometimes like living on an eternal Merry-Go-Round, it was fun at first, but after a certain length of time it could become nauseating.

"I wasn't there."

"Why weren't you there, where else did you have to be?"

Steve chose to ignore her and continued answering. "There was no sign of forced entry, so I don't really know how, maybe they took your key when they abducted you. And as to why, it appeared as if they were looking for something."

"We don't have anything that's worth a lot a money, well, except that antique lamp in the living room."

He paused before answering, trying to find a more comfortable position to sit in. "Well, we don't have that anymore either."

Ellen was truly speechless. The lamp had belonged to her great-grandmother. She'd had it appraised and was pleasantly surprised at how much it was worth, but for her the sentimental value far exceeded the monetary one.

"Ohno," finally came out of her mouth.

Steve felt sorry for her and wanted to comfort her, but wasn't sure that he had the strength to move from where he was leaning against one of the walls. "Ellen, come here."

He could see her shadow move closer to him, and, as soon as she was within reach, he wrapped his right arm around her and held her close, thinking it wise to keep his left hand as far away from her as possible.

She sat very still in his embrace for several minutes, as he gently caressed her. Then quietly, she inquired, "We don't have anything left?"

"That's not entirely true," he soothed her, "we've got each other."

----------

"So, the FBI has been investigating Samuel Hackett," Mark stated, almost triumphantly, after looking at a file that Ron had brought along.

"Oh, it's more than just an investigation. Hackett was about to turn state's evidence in return for protection. He told his informant that he needed to collect one more piece of documentation and then he would come in."

"Wait a minute," Jesse interrupted. "Why did Agent Dunleavy tell Mark that the FBI wasn't investigating Hackett?"

"Because it was unofficial." Ron stopped talking and had a look on his face that was clear he was contemplating something.

Mark stared at Ron for a long minute, while Jesse remained quiet, occupied with reading something in one of the files. Finally, the older doctor spoke. "It's ok, Ron, you can trust us."

Jesse looked up from his reading, unaware that his integrity was even under question, but for once, he decided to remain quiet.

Ron snickered. "You're good, Mark."

A smile appeared on the older man's face, knowing that he had assessed the situation correctly.

"Ok," Ron began, "the FBI has been working to get the information from Hackett for a over a year. He's the third man with organized crime information that we've been dealing with."

"What happened to the other two?" Jesse wanted to know.

"They died." He stated it without emotion.

Mark made a slight grunt. "And so did Hackett."

Ron nodded, knowing that it wouldn't take long for the older doctor to come to the same conclusion that he had. "That's right, and we think we know why."

----------

As the day wore on, Steve felt his strength diminish. Ellen had settled close to him, resting her head on his shoulder, and the lack of movement combined with sheer exhaustion had relaxed her enough to fall asleep, although he could tell it wasn't a restful slumber. He had closed his eyes, not really having anything to look at anyway, and tried to contemplate their current situation and what could be done to get out of it.

He couldn't come up with any viable solutions to getting free from their imprisonment, and that bothered him. The room had become very hot and stuffy as the afternoon hours lapsed, and with no food or water, he knew that if someone didn't return for them soon, they would grow weaker and finally pass out and die. He was already experiencing some of the symptoms of dehydration.

But what bothered him even more was that he still had no idea why they had been taken. If Ellen really hadn't seen or taken anything from Hackett's apartment, then why the destruction of their house and why take them captive? It would have been different if they were being tortured for information, but as far as he could tell, they were the lone occupants of the building they were in, wherever it was.

Steve knew that he should broaden his thinking and quit assuming that this had anything to do with Hackett. He could easily make a list of at least thirty people who he had arrested that had sworn to get revenge.

Once again, his aching head and body demanded his full attention, and he was feeling very tired, so he decided to try and get some sleep.

----------

"Wait a minute, let me get this straight." Jesse had listened to Ron's suspicion of a double-agent at the bureau. "You don't have any idea who is leaking information to the mob?"

Ron shook his head. "We have a pretty good idea who one of them might be."

"That means there is more than one," Jesse concluded, happily.

Ron found the young doctor's enthusiasm slightly annoying. "Definitely more than one. There is someone pretty high up in the system, and he or she seems to have a rather large group of followers."

Mark thought about the information for a few moments. "I still don't see how all of this relates to Ellen and Steve?"

"I didn't at first either, but I've come to believe that they are going to try to frame Steve and Ellen. That's probably why they broke in the house, either they left something behind that will definitely be incriminating or they took information with them to set them up later."

"Why go to all that trouble?" Jesse asked.

"Have you ever seen the movie Turner and Hooch'?" Mark asked him.

Jesse and Ron were both caught off guard by Mark's apparent changing of subjects, but Jesse knew him well enough to just play along. "Yeah, the one where Tom Hanks plays the cop who inherits the drooling dog."

"Do you remember who one of the bad guys turned out to be?" And then, without giving him time to answer, Mark continued. "It was the Chief of Police. He was in with the Mafia so deep that he was willing to do anything to protect himself, even kill an officer under his command."

Jesse furrowed his brows. "You think Chief Masters is one of the bad guys?"

"No, it's just an illustration, Jesse. People get greedy and then will go to any length to save themselves."

"Mark, I agree with you," Ron interrupted, "and I've got my suspicions about who we should be after."

"Then why aren't you doing something?"

"I am." Ron smiled showing his confidence in his plan. "There may be some bad informants in the system, but there are also some good ones, too."

Jesse continued to ramble, "Well, if turns out like the movie, then Steve will become Chief of Police and have lots of puppies."

Mark and Ron both looked at the younger doctor, shaking their heads.


	8. Till Death Do Us Part

****

Chapter 8 Till Death Do Us Part

"Say that again," Ron Wagner spoke into his phone. A very concerned look had appeared on his face.

Mark was immediately interested and gave the FBI agent his total attention.

"Ok. You stay with your man, and I'll put Rodgers on the new player." Ron pulled the phone away from his face and stared at it for a few seconds before finally disconnecting the call. His expression showed his puzzlement.

Mark, who was tired of hearing only the one-sided conversation, couldn't contain himself any longer. "What's wrong?" The two men were alone at the beach house, Jesse having gone back to his own apartment to get some sleep before reporting for his next shift at the hospital.

Ron didn't answer right away which caused Mark to become even more anxious. But finally, he said, "We knew that someone inside the FBI was supplying information to the mob, but now it seems that our _friend_ may have a buddy at the LAPD."

"It isn't Steve!" Mark declared, not wanting a dark cloud to appear over his son's reputation.

"No, Mark. I know it isn't Steve. And honestly, I'm not sure that it's anyone just yet. It could be that the LAPD are simply looking for their missing Lieutenant." He sat still in his chair for a few moments longer and then suddenly rose. "I think I'll join the surveillance team and see where this all leads."

"I'm going too," Mark declared, standing up himself, his voice strong with determination.

Ron eyed the older man for a long minute in silence. "Mark, it could be dangerous."

"I know."

"And you're a civilian, you really aren't allow-"

"I'm going, Ron," he stated and led the way to the front door, leaving no room for further discussion.

----------

"Steve," Ellen quietly uttered. It was difficult to talk because her mouth felt so dry.

"Hmm?" It was more of a grunt than a real word.

"What time is it?"

Steve sighed and suppressed the urge to tell her, "About five minutes later than the last time you asked." Instead, he slowly moved his right hand over to his left wrist and pressed the small button that lit up the face of his watch. "It's 2:25."

"In the afternoon?" It was asked without any trace of emotion.

Even though Steve was suffering from the same dehydration symptoms as his wife, not having anything to eat and drink for over forty-eight hours, her uncharacteristic soberness and confusion caused him to be concerned. "Yeah, in the afternoon." A small amount of light was drifting under the door, and it was feeling hot and stuffy again.

For several minutes, the room was completely quiet except for their raspy breathing. Ellen was sitting a short distance from her husband, both of them leaning against the wall. She was having a hard time concentrating because her head hurt, but she finally broke the silence, her voice clearly showing her fear. "Are we gonna die here?"

Steve was surprised by her inquiry, and his first instinct was to say, "No." However, he knew there was no way out of their dungeon, and there was no guarantee their captors would return. He had actually given the question some consideration himself but hadn't wanted to frighten her by bringing it up. He took in a shallow breath and, not wanting to lie to her, replied, "I hope not."

If she had been feeling like her normal self, Ellen would have most certainly reacted in a somewhat irrational way, but instead she remained still and silent. She felt like crying, but no tears came, and, after a few more minutes, she spoke again. "I love you, Steve."

He reached out in her direction and touched her arm. Scooting closer to her, while at the same time gently moving her closer to him, he answered, "I love you, too, Sweetheart." She cuddled into his embrace. "Your arm is cold," he commented.

"I'm ok." Since she had used her sweater to wrap Steve's hand, she had felt chilled, but right now it was hardly noticeable because Steve's hug was warm and comforting. It occurred to her that if they were going to die, then it was a slight comfort that they would experience it together. Her thoughts drifted, and images of times they had spent with each other filled her mind, and a smile came to her face. She couldn't help but share, "Do you remember when we first met, that night that you took me back to your house to protect me, but I didn't want to be alone?"

A smile came to his face also. "Yeah, I do."

__

Ellen stood in the doorway of Steve's bedroom, highly impressed by the strong abdominal muscles that she observed on the policeman who had taken it upon himself to be her guardian.

Suddenly, Steve noticed her and was startled, and somewhat embarrassed, by her presence. "What are you doing in here? I thought you were all settled in the guestroom?" he asked, covering up his bare chest with the shirt that he held in his hand.

"I heard a noise," she replied. It was a weak excuse and she knew it.

A little disgusted with her childish response, he began, "Miss Sharp-"

"If you think I'm staying in there by myself, you're crazy!" The day had already been a rather difficult and scary one, and she felt rattled.

Relenting, Steve replied, "Well, I guess you could stay in here, and I'll stay in the guestroom." As irritating as he found this woman, he still wanted to be a gentleman and started to leave the room, coming face to face with Ellen as he passed through the doorway.

"Wait." She didn't want him to leave, but since he was standing so close to her, she couldn't think fast enough to create an excuse, so she had to admit, "I don't want to be alone."

"Oh, right. I guess you could stay in here," he began to offer, returning to the bedroom.

"Oh, no-" she started.

"It's all right," he interrupted.

" —but it's your bed."

"I can't have you sleeping on the floor, it's all right." Steve didn't really relish the idea himself, but he knew that he would probably survive the night on the carpet with only a few sore muscles. Ignoring Ellen's objections, he continued, "I'll just grab my things."

Ellen interjected, "I have an idea." She picked up the comforter that was at the foot of the mattress and moved it across the middle so that it separated the bed into two separate halves from the head to the foot.

"What's that?" Steve asked, a little confused.

Smiling, she said, "Just make sure you stay on your side."

Finally understanding the situation, Steve responded, "Ok, fine. Just make sure you keep your hands to yourself."

Ellen spoke under her breath, but certainly loud enough for Steve to hear. "Like I'd be tempted."

"Steve, I need to tell you something about that night." Her voice was weak.

He stroked her arm hoping it would provide her with some warmth. His response came slowly. "What?"

"I was tempted."

Even though his head was aching, it took him only a few seconds to figure out what she meant. "Me, too."

"Steve, I was looking forward to our children," she voiced quietly, with a touch of melancholy.

Steve was stunned into a brief silence, but when he spoke a smile touched his mouth. "I was too, a blonde, hyper girl like her mother" he was interrupted by a light punch to his arm.

"Who you calling hyper?" Ellen asked with a touch of her normal brightness. "I suppose we would have a muscle-bound boy as well, huh? Or, oh yuck, a muscle-bound hyper girl, Steve, she'll never get a date!"

Steve chuckled at the image her description presented. His thoughts were then dragged back to their current predicament. He did want to spend the rest of his life with this woman, whether it was the next thirty years or the next thirty minutes he planned to make the most of it. Since there was no longer a reason to keep his hands to himself', Steve felt in the dark for her cheek and then gently moved it so that their lips met. It started off as a sweet tender kiss, but evolved into a deeply passionate one, clearly expressing the love they felt for each other. Ellen wrapped her arms around Steve's neck and held him tightly, while he tightened his hold on her. In the back of their minds, the thought lingered that this could be the last day of their lives. But without speaking, they silently agreed that if it really were their last day, they would leave this earth affirming their devotion to one another.

----------

When the call came in, Mark Sloan had begged to accompany Ron, but now after sitting in a cramped van for over three hours, he wasn't sure that he had made the right choice. Besides he and Ron, there were two other FBI men and all kinds of surveillance equipment in the back of the vehicle that was supposed to look like a newspaper delivery truck. Mark had tried to be patient and remain silent, taking in what he could from the conversations of the others, but now his patience was wearing thin. They had driven around downtown LA for over an hour and then headed east out of town, where, for nearly two hours, they had been following a dark blue sedan. It always surprised the older doctor how quickly the area became sparsely populated once the metropolis was left behind.

Ron was surprised at how quiet Mark had been. He had made the doctor give him his solemn promise that he would stay in the background and not interfere. Ron knew that would be impossible for the older man, and he was actually planning on it not occurring, actually wanting his wise input, but he had to admit that he was enjoying being in control of the situation for just a little while.

The other surveillance vehicle was about twenty minutes ahead of them, following a dark gray car, heading east on the same road. Ron wasn't sure if the distraction of driving around the downtown area was really that, a distraction, but they had been careful to not be spotted, and it seemed that neither group of bad guys' suspected anything.

Suddenly, their van shook as a sharp bang sounded from the rear of it, and all the occupants lost their bearings as the driver of the vehicle fought for control.

----------

The imprisoned couple, unable to do anything else, lay motionless next to each other on the floor and slept.

----------

Mark couldn't help but pace impatiently in the hot afternoon sun, while the flat tire was replaced. He knew that the men were working as quickly as possible to repair it, but in his mind it wasn't fast enough.

Ron was pacing too. He was also yelling into his cell phone, barking out orders to other agents and cursing under his breath about the lack of money provided for proper upkeep of their van. The unscheduled delay could cost them lives.

Somehow, and he couldn't really explain why, Mark knew that Steve and Ellen would be found. Something in his heart told him that they were headed in the right direction and that soon the mystery of their disappearance would be solved. He wanted to be there when that happened, however, when it did, he prayed that his medical expertise wouldn't be needed.

----------

Steve and Ellen both roused when they heard the door to their cell open, and they instinctively opened their eyes and tried to sit up. However, the bright light shining in blinded them, and they simultaneously covered their eyes with uplifted arms.

"Well, Lieutenant, I must say that you're not looking very well."

Steve couldn't see the man who was standing in the doorway, but he knew the voice was a familiar one. His mind seemed to be working in slow motion, but after a few moments he identified it as belonging to his superior, Chief Masters.

Using all of the strength that he could find, Steve sat up, bracing himself against the wall. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but he managed to say, "Sir." Trying as best as he could to help Ellen to a sitting position, he continued, "I knew you would find us."

"Find you?" Chief Masters let out a small chuckle. "Actually, I've known where you were all of the time." He let that nugget of information soak in before continuing. "Sloan, I arranged for these accommodations for you and your lovely bride." Sarcasm filled his words.

Steve's head ached, and he was using all his strength to keep himself upright, but he could still reason, just slower than usual. He was sure that his face showed his confusion.

Chief Masters didn't move from the doorway as he spoke. "We knew that Hackett was going to turn information over to the FBI, and we were looking for a way to take care of him before that happened. When your inquisitive wife visited him, and they had that little argument, we just couldn't pass up the opportunity."

Steve's mouth was too dry to actually form the question "Why?", but the chief didn't need to hear it to give the answer. "I had your house ransacked to implicate you. With the men I have working for me in the department, it won't take long to produce evidence that both you and your wife were heavily involved with some of the organized crime families in LA. And when your bodies are found out in the desert, murdered execution style, even your father will be hard pressed to prove otherwise."

"Captin," Steve muttered.

A large smile appeared on Chief Masters face. "You're wondering about Captain Woodruff? I just told you, I have other men in the department working for me." Steve eyes had adjusted to the light, and he didn't miss the smug smile on the chief's face. "You were an easy prey, Sloan. And it really is too bad that you didn't accept my offer years ago to be on my special task force. If you had, well, maybe you wouldn't be in this situation right now."

Steve watched as the tall man, that he had once highly respected, slid his hands into rubber gloves. The snap of the latex sent a shiver flowing through his body, and as he moved as best he could to place it in front of his wife's, he felt her tiny hands grip the fabric of his shirt. Ellen had remained totally silent during the entire discussion and now that he could see clearly, he could see fear in her eyes, fear that changed to a look of love as they momentarily locked gazes.

The chief took a gun out of a plastic bag that a nearby police officer was holding. "I guess this is good-bye, Lieutenant."

The tall man took two steps toward Steve and pointed the gun directly at his head.

Steve sat motionless, knowing that he didn't have enough energy to do anything to fight off his attacker. Ellen's grip on his shirt remained firm, as did his resolution to stay in his current position to act as her shield. If the mad man in front of him pulled the trigger, he would take the bullet, and hopefully, she would be spared. He braced himself as his eyes focused in on Masters' finger moving the trigger.

Several gunshots rang out, but Steve only comprehended the first one. The pain registered for only a few seconds during which time he heard Ellen call out his name. Then he slumped to the floor in a heap and knew no more.


	9. And Thereto I Pledge You My Love

****

Chapter 9 And Thereto I Pledge You My Love

The light faded in and out of the corners of his mind, and with it came voices. Some shouting frantically, "Clear!", some soothing, "Steve, it's your dad," and still others full of fear, "He's gonna die." He couldn't decide if they were real or only clouded memories.

Visions of family and friends floated around him. His mother's smile, a birthday party when he was ten years old, a wave washing over him when he crashed into it surfing, making love to a beautiful woman. The warmth of their company replaced the weariness of his struggle.

Then came the horrors of life, a war waging around him, gunshots going off in all directions, people screaming his name.

It was far too much for his boggled mind to sustain, so, he gave up the battle waging in his thoughts and completely succumbed to the darkness.

----------

Jesse had just come on duty when he was notified that the medivac chopper was about to arrive, and he left the ER, racing up the stairs to the roof of the hospital to meet it. As he exited onto the roof, the huge blades that swished in circles above their heads forced him to scream in order to be heard. The patients arriving by chopper usually needed immediate attention and there was really very little time spent on the roof, but the loud yelling only served to intensify the drama.

As he looked up at the descending helicopter, a chill ran through his body. He couldn't decide if it was a byproduct of the wind from the rotors and the momentary obliteration of the sun by the chopper's body or whether it was his reaction to the fact that he knew it carried his best friend who was once again fighting for his life.

"How's he doing?" Jesse yelled to the paramedic, who was already moving the gurney out of the helicopter.

The rescue worker looked directly at Jesse; his eyes clearly stating the seriousness of the situation. "Not good," he shouted above the roar of the chopper, as he continued to push Steve toward the elevator doors. "Dehydrated, lost a lot of blood, gunshot wound to the right side, bruising on the left face and torso, and" He motioned toward Steve's left hand which was wrapped up in what appeared to be a sweater.

Jesse looked at the hand and then back at the paramedic, confusion written all over his face.

"Witness at the scene says that he thought his hand was broken."

"Ok," Jesse shrugged his shoulders. Improvising was usually Mark's forte, but obviously Steve had finally caught on to it. "Thanks," Jesse told the man as they entered the elevator.

The paramedic stood back as the doors swished closed, and it was then that Jesse picked up the chart that was lying on top of Steve's chest. He surveyed it, a worried scowl appeared on his face, and he prayed that they weren't too late.

----------

Ellen watched as her husband slowly moved and positioned himself in front of her on the floor of the small room. She knew what he was trying to do, protect her from the eminent danger. This was so like him, it was something that he had done since the day they had met. However, this time it seemed a futile endeavor. In their weakened physical state, they were both virtually defenseless.

The chief of police, a man who should have been there to help them, was, instead, talking about a deceit that ran deep within the police department. It all seemed surreal and Ellen wondered if perhaps it were a dream.

As she watched the gun being removed from the plastic bag and pointed at Steve, the fear that struck her soul was overwhelming. The thought of him dying was more than she could bear, and, wanting to hold him, she reached out, but could only grab the back of his shirt. She had seen the look of determination and love in Steve's eyes when, for a brief second, they had locked gazes, and now she felt so helpless, not being strong enough to do anything but sit and watch the terrible drama unfold in front of her.

She grabbed tighter on the fabric, hoping that Steve would realize how much she loved him, as she heard, "I guess this is good-bye, Lieutenant."

"Steve." She forced herself to say the single word.

Ellen called out his name again, "STEVE!" only this time much louder, and, with a start, she opened her eyes and looked around, surprised to find that she wasn't in the small room anymore.

"It's ok," a soothing voice calmed her.

"Amanda, what happened?" Ellen felt very disoriented. "Where am I? I just had this terrible dream." She tried to slow down her rapid breathing and looked around, realizing that they were in a hospital room and that she was obviously the patient since an IV was attached to her arm. Ellen looked at her friend with a new sense of fear. "It wasn't a dream, what it? Steve really got shot?"

A gentle, but sad, smile appeared on Amanda's face and she slowly shook her head as she replied. "No, it wasn't a dream."

----------

As Mark sat by his son's bedside, he couldn't help but let the images of the last few hours fill his mind. Call it instinct or perhaps wishful thinking, but he had known that they would find Steve and Ellen, however, he wasn't prepared for the mayhem that would occur at the scene.

__

"Mark, we're almost there and when we arrive, you'll need to stay in the van." Ron was very insistent. He hadn't fully calmed down from the flat tire incident, and Mark could sense the irritation in his voice.

The doctor just nodded his head, not wanting to commit verbally to the order. He knew that he wouldn't be remaining in the van, and he guessed that Ron knew it too, but he figured if he only nodded, he could devise a way out of it later.

The vehicle came to a stop and the three FBI agents quickly and quietly exited it, bulletproof jackets in place and guns drawn and ready. Just as the last man stepped out, gunshots were heard coming from inside the only building in the vicinity, which was about thirty feet away.

Mark couldn't help but poke his head out and look toward the warehouse where the sounds were emanating, but quickly ducked back inside when several men came running from it, weapons in hand. He held his breath as he squatted on the floor of the van, instinctively covering his head with his arms. Several more shots rang out, and then "Hold your fire!" was shouted, and the noise stopped.

There were more moments of silence, which seemed like an eternity, and then Mark heard, "Where's Dr. Sloan? We need him in here!"

Mark gave no regard to his safety, but quickly stood and left the van. "Captain Woodruff? Are you all right?" Steve's superior stood in front of him, looking rattled, his gun still in his hand but pointed at the ground.

Captain Woodruff nodded. It had been a long three days, and even though it seemed as if it were over, he was still in defensive mode. On the ground were three fallen men, one of them in a policemen's uniform, two in suits, but all three were being guarded by other men.

"Where's Steve?" Mark anxiously asked.

"In here," the captain replied, turning toward the warehouse, which appeared to have been abandoned for some time. Mark jogged along behind and was led into the building and down a hallway to a small room passing several other fallen individuals along the way. When he stood at the doorway, he had to step over two additional bodies on the floor. One was a uniformed officer that Mark didn't recognize, but he immediately identified the second man as Chief Masters. It was obvious that they had both been shot. However, when Mark saw that Steve was also lying on the floor, he made his way to his son, giving little regard to the others.

Ellen was holding Steve across her lap while blood was flowing from a wound in his chest. Both of their faces were gaunt, sunken in, but Ellen still looked terrified.

Mark quietly asked, "Are you ok?"

She nodded. The older man patted her arm, noticing small bruises on her wrists and face. He knew that they weren't serious, but he also knew that someone had mistreated her, and it infuriated him. But he put aside the anger and shouted, "Someone get me a bottle of water!" He didn't turn to look, but he could hear footsteps running, hurrying to carry out his order.

Mark quickly surveyed Steve's body, noting the cuts and bruises to the left side of his face, and he gently opened his shirt to reveal a clear view of the gunshot wound on his right side. Deep bruises had formed along his left rib cage. Mark took his own jacket off, and folded it up and began to use it to put pressure on the bleeding wound.

"Here's a bottle of water, Sir," an officer that Mark didn't recognize offered.

"Thank you," was the reply. Mark twisted the lid off and handed it to Ellen. "Drink this, very slowly. Just sip it."

She took it from him and began to do as he asked, not saying a word.

"The ambulance is on its way, probably five minutes away." It was Captain Woodruff who made the announcement.

Mark knew how far out in the desert this warehouse was located, and he was surprised, but not at all unpleasantly, by the news. "Good. Let's hope that's soon enough for Steve." He turned and glanced at the other two fallen men. "Should I look at them too?"

"No, they're dead." Captain Woodruff's voice was emotional, but Mark couldn't tell if he was more sad or upset.

__

Knowing that there was little more he could do until the proper help arrived, Mark turned his attention to Ellen. "Sweetie, keep sipping the water. And try not to worry. Everything will be ok."

His daughter-in-law looked directly at him, and he kept a reassuring smile on his face and hoped that his eyes didn't betray his lie.

The first ambulance had taken Steve and another officer, who had been shot in the leg, to the nearest clinic with helicopter facilities, where they were both air-lifted to Community General Hospital. Mark had stayed with Ellen until a second ambulance arrived, and then she and one other policeman who had suffered only a minor wound were driven into the city, Mark riding along. And now that Steve had once again survived the life-saving surgery and Ellen was resting comfortably, all any of them could do was wait to find out the explanation.

----------

"Ron, say that one more time," Steve asked. It had been two days since they had been rescued from their prison, and Steve had thought that he was making good progress on his recovery, but this latest information was a shock.

"Captain Woodruff was the one who shot Chief Masters." Ron repeated his statement very nonchalantly. He addressed the reply to Steve, but he was glad that Mark, Jesse, and Steve's wife were all present.

"My memories are a little foggy, but I'm sure that Masters told me that Woodruff was working for him." Steve was sitting in the hospital bed. An IV was still in his arm, and since both sides of his torso hurt when he moved, he had resigned himself to staying as still as possible.

Ron shrugged his shoulders slightly. "That's probably what Masters thought, and maybe it was even true. But it seems that your captain couldn't stand by and watch you be executed. Woodruff has given us his side of the story, but we're still looking into all of the details."

"What other officers were involved?' Steve started to raise his left hand to scratch an itch on his head, but then remembered that it was in a cast, so he used his right one.

"From the LAPD or the FBI?" Ron asked.

"There were men from both," Mark interjected, realizing for the first time how far the treachery reached.

"Yes, and it will take some time before we'll know if we have them all."

"Masters was using his own people, like Ross Canin, to infiltrate organized crime himself?" Steve asked.

Ron nodded. "And it's worked for years now, kind of a mutual agreement. For a nice payoff, the Mafia families could conduct their business in LA undisturbed. Every now and then, when someone wouldn't play by Masters' rules, the police would find the evidence necessary to shut them down, usually killing them in the process."

"It's a very intricate plan," Mark interjected. "Designed by a brilliant mind."

"A _Master_-mind," Jesse piped up, a smile on his face showing his pride from his play on words.

"Is that what Samuel Hackett was going to tell the Feds?" Mark asked, totally ignoring his colleague's comment.

"Probably, but we'll never know, unless," he paused and looked directly at Ellen, who had been standing next to Steve's bed, taking in every word of the conversation, "you'd care to tell us what information Hackett shared with you?"

Ellen's mouth fell open in disgust. "Obviously, Agent Wagner, you don't know me very well. I didn't lie. Hackett didn't tell or show me anything." With each word the volume of her voice rose. "If he had, do you think I would have let them shoot Steve? I would never do...."

"Calm down," Ron insisted. "I didn't think that you knew that he'd slipped it in your purse, but I had to ask."

"Slipped what in my purse?" Ellen asked the question that was on everyone else's mind.

"A list of names, people who were on the payroll of the LAPD or the FBI, but were actually working for Masters. We found your purse on the floor in the back of the Neon, which was still parked outside the warehouse. The information was on a small thumb drive that Hackett must have slipped in there."

"Am I going to be shocked to find out whose names were on it?" Steve wanted to know.

"Maybe a little. I'll make sure a copy of the list is brought over here. But you'll be glad to know that the dumpster killings case you were working on has been solved."

Steve stared Ron, a little confused, and then it all made sense. "Those people were involved in this scheme too?"

Ron nodded again. "Not directly. They weren't in law enforcement, but it seems that they were still pawns of Masters' game. We're not really sure how far it reached."

The implications of the last remark were not ones that Steve wanted to consider at the moment. He knew that he was innocent, but when things like this happened, the trial usually occurred in the press, not a courtroom, and every cop was guilty until proved innocent.

The room had fallen very quiet as all of the occupants were working through the information.

Finally, Ellen broke the silence. "So, Agent Wagner, may I ask you a question?"

"Can you have first rights to the story? No."

His reply flustered the blonde woman. "What? Why not?" She was surprised not only by the fact that he had foreseen her question, but also that his reply was a negative one.

Ron just grinned at her for a long minute before answering, enjoying the fact that he had frustrated her so.

Ellen felt her face flush red. "You can't stop me you know, the first amendment, freedom of speech, I have a right to report it!"

"Yes, I know all of those things, Ms Sharp"

"That's Mrs. Sloan!" Ellen corrected him indignantly and received a smiling look from Steve. "We almost died because of this, if anyone has a right to report it, I do! They had planned on framing us, did you know that? Do you care? Where were you when they kidnapped me out of the police station and my husband from our home? We have been involved in this from the beginning, you can't just show up at the end and start telling people what they can and can't do."

Mark had watched Ron's grin of enjoyment fade as he faced the full wrath of the tiny blonde woman. He had been forced to hide the smile that played about his lips as Ron took a physical step back from Ellen.

Her tirade was interrupted by her husband. "You know, Honey, if you had gone after the bad guys like that we might have gotten out of there sooner."

Her reaction surprised everyone as she burst into tears and fled the room.

"Ellen!" Steve called, and, as she disappeared out the door, he began the arduous process of pushing himself up and out of the bed.

"Hey, hey," Mark spoke as he placed a restraining hand against his son's shoulder. "Where do you think you are going?"

"After my wife!" Steve stated as he continued his efforts to rise and threw a glare Ron's way. "This is all your fault."

"My fault? How is it my fault? I may be mistaken, but I think I'm the one that rescued both of you."

"I don't mean that," Steve responded testily. "I mean about upsetting Ellen."

"Steve, forgive me for saying this, but you might want to see if Mark can give her some medication that might make her a little less high strung."

No longer caring about the pain he was in or the IV line in his arm, Steve launched himself at the tall FBI agent. The cast on his left hand made a strange sound as it impacted with Ron's cheek. He didn't really know what happened after that, but his next awareness was of drops of water falling on his face, one of them slid into his mouth. It tasted salty. He became aware of someone stroking his hair and speaking quietly, and, when he forced his eyes open, he saw Ellen looking down at him. He felt himself being lifted off the floor, but the small hand that was tucked in his never lost contact. He offered her a smile, which she returned brightly.

"You know I always said you were slightly slow, why else would you try and get out of bed?" she asked quietly.

"To go after the woman I love," he whispered softly as he once again drifted off.

---------

"Come on, Jess, I need to get out of here." It was almost an order, but the younger doctor wasn't intimidated.

"No, Steve. You aren't strong enough. If I dismiss you, you'll go home and overdo it, trying to clean up the mess that is there. Look at the damage you did to yourself when you punched Ron."

"Jesse." It was spoken with a growl.

The younger doctor just smiled. There was some delight in watching his best friend struggle. Steve was good at intimidation, but it only worked on Jesse when Steve was well and could actually threaten a physical retribution. When he was Jesse's patient, none of the yelling or arguing worked in his favor.

They both jumped as the door to the room flew open revealing Ellen.

"Steve, Honey, how are you feeling this morning?" As she talked, she made her way over to the side of his bed.

Steve opened his mouth to respond but was left gaping like a fish as his wife continued on without allowing him the time to answer.

"I have got everything arranged at home, I have a hospital bed set up in the living room, and I will sleep on the couch, that way I can be with you every minute." She paused briefly as she turned to look at Jesse. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be taking care of things so that I can take him home? Where's the wheelchair? Don't we need a wheelchair? Hmmm, maybe I should have rented one of those as well."

Jesse took advantage of the break in the flood of words that had been pouring out of her mouth. "Ellen, I'm not sure he is going home today."

"What? But I have everything ready, I don't understand you said yesterday that he could come home today."

"I said MAYBE, I never said definitely," Jesse responded.

"No, no, you're wrong, that's not what you said, I was here and I heard it, you said he could go home."

Jesse turned an exasperated look on Steve who only shrugged in response and gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Ellen, I was here as well, and I think I know what I said." He tried one last time to make his point, feeling very exasperated.

Ellen offered him a look that was filled with pity. "I guess that's why you doctors have to rely on charts so much, you obviously can't remember what you say," and with a flip of her hair she dismissed him and perched on the bed beside her husband.

As she gazed into the blue eyes that were slightly crinkled in amusement, she felt a calmness descend around her, and she leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. As she moved to pull back, a hand halted her and the look in the blue eyes was now smoldering. This time as their lips met it was a deep fulfilling kiss, it represented their thankfulness that they were both there to share it and the promise of a bright future.

When they broke their contact Steve growled a comment in Jesse's direction. "I am going home today."

Jesse lifted his hands in surrender. "Ok, but you are taking a huge risk leaving right now," he muttered more to himself than anyone else, because the couple was once again lost in a kiss. "You could get an infection, rupture stitches on the ride home. What if you fell, Steve? Ellen isn't exactly Superman."

The growl was louder. "Jesse!"

"Have it your way." Jesse made his way to the door. "I'll go sign the papers and get the wheelchair." There was no way he could beat both of them, and he knew it. "I'll just make sure that Ron Wagner isn't being dismissed at the same time. Even though you didn't break his nose, he's still pretty angry at you."

A devilish smile came to Jesse's face as he turned and looked at them. He felt confident that as soon as Steve got home, he would be so smothered by his well-intentioned wife that he might just wish he were back in the hospital. Or maybe he would beg for extra shifts at Bob's. Or consent to do deskwork at the precinct for a month. Or

Jesse looked again at the couple who was obviously in love. Or maybe the two of them were perfect for each other, and he should just go and get the wheelchair.

The End


End file.
